


The Hut In The Forest

by Acaranna



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Laura Hale, Alternate Universe - Medieval, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Burn, Some angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-09 05:23:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4335536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acaranna/pseuds/Acaranna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles knows the forest that grows around Beacon Hills like the back of his hand. So, of course, he knows about the house that sits beside the river. A fire destroyed it years ago, leaving it nothing but a blackened shell these days. It  still serves a purpose, though, because there are still plants growing in the old garden. Plants, which Stiles needs for his tinctures and balms. He always tries to harvest as much as he can when he's out there, because he doesn't trust the eerie building. </p><p>He knows, he's right, when one day his harvest is interrupted by a dark looking man. He drops the basket his mother always used, when he flees. Only to later on get it back from a young woman. She warns him off, but he goes back anyway. He needs the plants and he's curious, of course.</p><p>Adding to that, there's a new family in town as well. And Stiles doesn't have a good feeling about them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is it. My first Big Bang and of course my computer decides to be difficult, right now. *sighs* Anyway, these are the first chapters of the story and I'll try to get at least 1 new chapter up each week. (Two if work is being cooperating.) 
> 
> Special thanks goes to [Sydburf](http://sydburf.tumblr.com/) (quelleheureestil here on Ao3), for not only being my amazing artist but also doing the job of being my Beta. I don't know what I would have done without her.

Every good fairy tale has a forest that was dark and deep and dangerous; filled with riddles and hidden places. The shadows beneath the, often times ancient, trees seemed much blacker to the eye than other shadows. The coils of their roots were roads down into the ground, intent on luring unsuspecting people to places they never wanted to see. People talked about these forests as if they were the gates to hell itself. Fathers warned their sons to never follow their prey should it vanish behind the tree-line. Mothers told bedtime stories of curious children who had wandered off into the forest because they thought they saw something move in the shadows. The end of each story remained the same, no matter what the beginning was. None of the children who walked into the woods ever came back.

Beacon Hills, a small town with little more than two hundred inhabitants, was surrounded by a fairy tale forest. There was only one road leading to and through the town, crossing the it’s market place. Visitors and other travellers, besides the traders who showed up every Wednesday and Saturday, were far and few between. Even rarer than that were the visits of the Count. So rare, in fact, that the children of Beacon Hills didn’t even try to remember his name, and only the oldest of the town had ever seen him and his wife, when they made their presence known.

Not that the people cared much about the Count seeing as he lived farther away than anyone had ever travelled. His visits were nothing more than an interruption of the regular schedule and were forgotten before he even passed the town’s borders on his journey.

*~*~*~*

The sun had barely risen enough to paint the sky in it’s usual array of blues and greens and the slightest bit of pink when the back door of one of the houses opened quietly. A young man of seventeen stepped out into the early morning, an empty basket in one hand while the other stayed curled around the door-knob. His eyes closed while he drew in the fresh air that still smelled of the rain from the night before. It had only been a mild shower, though, which meant that his boots would likely keep his feet dry, though they were old and well worn already. The colour had turned from a strong brown into something that looked like grey with scattered flecks of green and the once stiff leather was now supple and soft.

Stiles released the breath he held with a soft huff and opened his eyes again. Early mornings where his favourite time of the day. Everything was still fresh and untouched, as if the world decided to be reborn again overnight in order to shake off what the day before had left behind. It was also something his mother had loved when she had been alive. He still remembered her smile and the twinkle in her eyes when she had opened the door, basket in hand

“Some plants are better gathered in the early morning,” she had explained, when he had asked her why she left so early in the morning. “And I like walking through the forest when it’s just waking up itself.”

Back then, Stiles hadn’t been able to understand what she meant. He had only been five years old and his interest was more focused on his father’s work or the toys he’d brought home. Years later now, he understood her words and the peace the forest had brought her. Claudia Stilinski had been a wonderful woman; in tune with both, nature and human, and Stiles hoped that he could at least be a bit like her.

“Do you know when you’ll be back? The baker’s wife asked whether you might be able to visit today. She doesn’t seem to be feeling well,” his father’s voice broke the spell of memories that kept Stiles motionless. He turned slightly to gaze back into the kitchen where his father was still eating. John Stilinski was a tall man with gentle eyes, that still held the pain from losing his wife. He was well respected among the people in their small town and held the title of the Sheriff. Though he very rarely had to act in it’s name. Most of the time he took care of the field behind their house and flock of chickens they held, before heading out to help around the town in whatever way he could. Just like everyone else in town.

“I should be back before midday,” Stiles replied, his gaze trailing back out and towards the small garden, that bordered on the chicken coop. It held vegetables, some fruits and quite a few herbs. It had been his mother’s treasure and now it was his. “I’ll head over to Mrs. Cooper as soon as I’m back. She should be fine until then.” A grin stole over his father’s face, and Stiles couldn’t help but laugh. Mrs. Cooper was probably the oldest woman in town but she never acted like it. She and her husband still worked in the small bakery even though her sons had already taken over most of the work.

She also thought that Stiles needed another mother-figure in his life and had taken it upon herself to be that. Which usually resulted in her trying to get Stiles to come over to the bakery where she would try to coddle him. If she wasn’t already busy trying to coddle his father.

“Alright,” John nodded, “be careful out there. Don’t …”

_“Fall into the shadows,”_ Stiles finished his sentence with a grin and an eyeroll. “I know. And you should know that I’m always careful. I know my way around this forest. Just like you know your way around the town without being seen by old Mrs. Cooper.” He turned around without waiting for a reply and grinned when the only thing that followed him was his father’s laughter. Something in Stiles’ chest ached slightly. It took so long for his father to be able to grin again.

Shaking his head with a soft smile on his lips, Stiles strode down the small path that led him directly towards the forest.

*~*~*~*

Stiles knew the forest like he knew the back of his hand. He was aware of the paths that led him from one clearing to another while beneath the canopy of leaves which barely allowed the sun to break through. His steps were sure on the uneven ground, and he only stumbled twice over newly risen roots. Thankfully, he only fell to his knees when that happened or the plants he’d already collected would have been strewn across the floor. With each step he took, the sound of gurgling water got louder, and the grin on Stiles’ face grew wider.

He loved the river that ran through the forest. Its water was so clear that he could see the ground and the fish flitting through it. Most people had forgotten that it was there even if they knew that the lake just outside of their home had to get it’s water from somewhere - it didn’t rain all that often in these parts of the country. The river wasn’t big in this part of the woods, probably only two steps in width, and could easily be crossed with a good jump.

The scents of pine sap and wet moss were heavy in the air, filling Stiles’ lungs to the brim. He didn’t mind the strength of the scents though. It was better than some of the salves and tinctures he’d made in the past, which was one of the reasons why he gathered small pine branches as well. And why his father had built the small shack just behind the main house way before Stiles had even been born. His mother used to laugh about the way her husband would scrunch up his nose whenever he visited her in that shack. Most of those times were to collect her for the meals. These days, John came into the shack to remind himself of the good memories. Even if they included the scent of eggs that had gone off.

Stiles shook his head at himself when he finally pulled out of his memories. His feet had carried him to yet another clearing, quite a bit down the river. He hadn’t planned on visiting this particular spot given that he didn’t need the plants that grew here just yet, but he decided to gather them all the same.

“No use in letting the opportunity slip by,” he mumbled to himself, while he walked across the grass. The sun had risen high enough by now to dry off the morning dew from the leaves and flowers. It also shone brightly onto the blackened remains of the hut that had been built beside the stream. Stiles knew that there had been a family living in the hut, years ago when he had been a child, and that a fire had killed almost all of them. From what his father had told him only four had survived. Three children and their uncle, who had taken off three months after the fire and hadn’t been seen since.

Stiles’ gaze travelled back to the skeleton of the building. It must have been bigger than just a hut, considering that there had been more than four people living there. He hadn’t thought much about the fire back then. He had still just been a child, and it had happened so soon after his mother’s death that everything else just seemed unimportant. Over time though, he had started to wonder about what had happened  to the family. The general opinion was that the fire had been an accident, but Stiles wasn’t so sure about that.

He’d explored the ruins of the house shortly after he’d stumbled upon them on his second or third journey into the forest. While the fire had destroyed almost everything inside the rooms, Stiles had found a few spots that looked suspiciously blacker than the rest; like the fire had burned there for longer or hotter, though he wasn’t sure how it could burn hotter than hot. His father knew about those places as well, and he had been wondering himself. But there was nothing to do about it anymore. If it really had been arson, then it was impossible to find out who had done it.

Once again, Stiles became aware that his body moved without his conscious thought or decision, because when he finally noticed his surroundings again, he found himself standing in the middle of what used to be the family’s garden. Nature had taken a hold of it over the years and turned it into a wild meadow once more, just like she still tried to take the house back into her folds. Weeds and ivory started to grow on and inside the walls, hiding the black beneath a layer of green. It made the whole scene less painful and a bit more serene. Though that was probably only because Stiles wasn’t really affected by what had happened.

*~*~*~*

The basket he’d brought grew steadily fuller with every new herb and plant Stiles’ harvested, though he always made sure to never take everything he found. It was something his mother had taught him very early on.

“Nature gives us everything we need,” she had said, when a little boy of five years tried to rip out the last flower. “We don’t take more than we really need and if we do, then we make sure that we give back what we can.” To this day, Stiles only took as much as he needed for the daily batch of balms or potions and put whatever remained as a leftover onto the compost heap in the garden.

His hand hovered over a sagebrush when Stiles heard the noise for the first time. A faint crack, like somebody stepping onto a dry twig. Given that he was deeper inside a forest that most people steered clear off, it wasn’t that surprising. A deer could have made the noise. Or a fox. Still, it sent a shiver through his body. Deciding that it would be a good idea to look around the place, Stiles rose from where he was crouched in front of the sagebrush. The lilac blossoms brushed against his legs and fingers but he ignored the tingle.

Moving his body in a slow circle Stiles’ gaze travelled over everything he could see. The edge, where the clearing continued on into the forest again. The path, that he’d come from. The river, that still gurgled peacefully besides the ruin. There was nothing that indicated anyone of the non-animal variety to be close. Still, robbers and poachers usually knew how to hide as well. They never had to deal with robbers, at least not that Stiles knew, but his father had still told him to be careful whenever he went into the forest.

“Let’s just get the sage and then I should head home,” Stiles reminded himself, taking one last glance at the treeline before crouching down again. “It’s almost midday anyway.” His hands moved in the long ingrained rhythm of separating and cutting the necessary pieces. He would dry the sage, comfrey and mint in order to preserve them for later use. Especially the comfrey since his father tended to overdo it and like to sprain either his ankle or wrist. The other herbs and flowers, like the dandelion and the ramson would be used either in the salad he would make for dinner and the tea mixture he needed to prepare for Mrs. Finnegan’s son.

“Right then,” Stiles said, when he stood up again. “Let’s get back home.” He took his basket, slid the knife back into the sheath at his belt and turned around to leave the clearing. Just as he reached the path that would lead him back out of the forest, he heard another noise. Closer this time and not just a twig breaking. It was a snuffling noise, like a dog trying to catch a scent. Breathing in, in, in, before huffing the air back out towards the ground.

Stiles ran even before his brain made the conscious decision for him. He followed the path, jumped over the roots that hadn’t risen too high just yet and climbed across the ones that had. Curiously, though, he wasn’t panicking. Sure, he was scared and his heart hammered in his chest like it wanted to break out but he wasn’t really panicking. Maybe only because he didn’t know what exactly had been trying to catch his scent back at the old house. It could have been a dog that got lost in the woods itself. Still, he’d rather not try to find out.

Keeping a tight hold on the basket and the precious cargo inside it, Stiles continued down the path out of the forest. He only allowed himself to slow down when he was already past the fields behind their house. His heart hammered harder than ever against his ribs and his chest burned from the harsh breathing. Gasping and shaking he made his way up the stairs that led to the back door before turning around to check the edge of the forest.

He didn’t really expect to see something, but there it was. Tall, black furred with bright golden eyes stood a wolf. Granted, it was half-hidden by the dark shadows but Stiles could see that it was bigger than any dog he had ever encountered. They stood, face to face, just staring at each other. Time seemed to become meaningless and Stiles couldn’t say, whether it were minutes or hours that he stood there.

Finally, though, the wolf huffed once more and turned around to trot back into the shadows. Stiles swallowed and whirled around to enter his home. He ignored his shaking hand, intent to put the whole situation out of his mind for now. Sorting through the herbs, roots and flowers he’d gathered, helped him calm down enough to snort at himself. It must have been his imagination running wild again, which made sense. He and his best friend, Scott, had been talking about the myths about werewolves the evening before and his mind had been playing tricks on him today.

Because really, no wolf was that big.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As alway, feedback is very welcome! So, either leave a comment here or [here](http://acaranna.tumblr.com/)!


	2. Chapter Two

Stiles closed the door behind him before leaning against it. The sigh of relief came unbidden, but it was heartfelt nonetheless. He was tired and his whole body ached from being on his feet for the last two days without getting any real rest, even though Mrs. McCall had told him time and again that she had everything under control and that he should go home to sleep, that he’d done everything he could. Yet just thinking about it had felt wrong, when nobody knew, whether or not Erica would survive the night or not: her fever had been dangerously high.

He didn’t know her very well, but she seemed to be nice, if a little shy and unassuming. Most of the time they only met when it was a market day, as he used the other days to take care of his garden or to hunt down herbs and other plants in the forest. Or he spent his days hidden away in the shack to prepare tinctures, teas, salves and balms.

Two days ago, he had decided to take inventory of what he still had and what he would need to stock up on again. Armed with a piece of parchment and his ink bottle along with the often used quill, Stiles had just stepped out of the back-door when Isaac came running down the path between the houses. The boy was of the same age but quite a bit taller than him. And thinner than he should be, if Stiles was honest, but that hadn’t been his main concern that day.

“Stiles,” Isaac had wheezed, coming to a halt in front of him. He’d dropped forward and managed to lean onto his knees without toppling over. “You need to come to the Reyes’ house! There’s something wrong with Erica.” The words had come out in a rush just before Isaac started to pant heavily. It had taken the words a moment to fully register in his mind but when they had, Stiles rushed into the shack to grab the emergency bag he always had ready.

It was filled with a collection of balms and salves for various purposes, which included burns, abrasions or the occasional case of rash from poison ivy. Adding to that there were small flasks filled with tinctures and teas that were meant to reduce fevers or ease headaches or even settle an upset stomach. Bandages filled up the corners and prevented the small bottles from breaking.

Together with Isaac, Stiles had made his way over to the Reyes’ house, where the front door had been thrown open before he even had a chance to knock. Mr. Reyes hadn’t said much, only pointed up the stairs where his wife was already waiting. Holding his bag still to keep it from banging against the banister, Stiles had taken the stairs, two at a time and practically flown into Erica’s room. Mrs McCall, his best friend’s mother and midwife in Beacon Hills, had rushed in only moments after him.

Rubbing a hand over his face, Stiles’ eyes felt gritty and dry from the lack of sleep, yet every time he closed them, Erica’s flushed face and shivering body came to haunt him.

Her pale skin had shone from the sheen of sweat as she fought the fever. Erica had looked so fragile and slender in the small bed that Stiles had to take a second to steady himself. She’d been breathing hard and whimpered every once in a while when a shudder had rushed through her body.

The fight against the fever had lasted well into the early hours of the day. Mrs McCall had to restrain Erica a few times, when she’d tried to kick off the blankets that covered her. Stiles had helped her drink the tea he’d brought in order to lower the fever when he wasn’t busy taking care of the scratch that was the cause for Erica’s suffering. It hadn’t been big, barely longer than his little finger, but it had been red and inflamed. Sickly yellow pus had already covered a part of it.

Stiles sighed again and pushed himself away from the door. It was well past the time for dinner but he wasn’t hungry. Just tired.

They managed to break Erica’s fever and the scratch had looked a good deal better when he last checked it over before heading home. She would still be weak for a couple of days given that nothing else happened before then. But he, and Mrs McCall herself, had left instructions with Mrs Reyes along with teas that would help Erica regain what strength she had lost. He also left the balm for the scratch.

Stumbling through the slowly darkening house, Stiles set his bag onto a chair that stood next to the stairs. He would restock it the next day when he’d slept enough and wouldn’t run the risk of mixing the wrong herbs together. Then he slowly went up to his room. His bed was already calling him.

*~*~*~*

The next day found Stiles in his shack, hunched over the parchment. He scribbled furiously; names of different plants and whether he needed to simply restock his dried supplies or if he needed them for the medicine along with his dried supply. So far his notes already covered half of the parchment, which was quite a lot and only had the seasonal herbs, roots and mushrooms on it. Stiles huffed and started to unconsciously nibble on the end of the quill.

A knock on the doorjamb made him look up and realise that he was chewing on the quill. His father stood in the open doorway and looked at him with a sad smile. Stiles knew that he must look a lot like his mother, because he remembered seeing her nibble on the feather as well. It was a bittersweet reminder, for both of them.

“You’re going to go and check on Erica before you head out again?” his father asked, pointing at the list in front of him. Stiles looked down with a small pout. There was so much he had to gather that it would probably take him most of the day to collect everything. Still, the ingredients were needed and Stiles knew that a lot of them grew around or in the garden of the old ruin.

“Yeah, I’m done with the list anyway, so I’ll head over right away,” Stiles replied, before standing up to stretch his slightly aching muscles. Sitting still for long periods of time wasn’t his favourite thing to do and he always tried to keep moving in some way or other. “Did you need me for anything, or why are you asking?” If his father needed him then Stiles wouldn’t say no. He couldn’t say no, even if that would take even more time.

“No, no, don’t worry,” the Sheriff grinned. “I just wanted to let you know that I probably won’t be back before tonight myself. A new family is going to move here in a couple of days and …” he trailed off, when somewhere in the distance a cock crowed loudly. Probably the one from the Morells. The feathered menace was always rather loud.

“And you along with few other folks want to make sure that the house won’t collapse on their heads on their first night,” Stiles finished the sentence when it was quiet again. “Which will end with you and the others going for a pint or two at the tavern, right?” He chuckled, not in the least worried that his father would come home drunk. Which reminded him of something else.

“Is Mr. Lahey going to join you as well?” Stiles hoped that he wasn’t because if his suspicions proved themselves to be true then he didn’t want to imagine what Isaac would have to go through that night. His thoughts must have been showing on his face because his father frowned.

“I’m not sure whether or not he will be there, though he might be in the tavern tonight anyway. Why do you ask?” The tone of voice his father used was one that Stiles only heard very rarely. It was the same tone the Sheriff used when he asked a victim or a witness. Since thievery and other crimes were a selden occurrence in Beacon Hills, there wasn’t much use for this kind of tone.

“It’s just something that I saw,” Stiles started. He jumped up and began to put the desk in order. “About Isaac. Mind you, I don’t see him that often and it could all just be my imagination, but he looks thinner than is healthy. I wasn’t really paying attention when he came to get me for Erica, but the times before that, he always looked hunched over. As if his stomach hurt too much when he would move. He also had a black eye on more than one occasion and from what I know, which is, granted, not that much, he’s not the sort of boy to get into mindless brawls.”

“So what you’re saying is, that you think his father is beating and starving him,” the Sheriff concluded. Stiles nodded anxiously.

“I know, that the occasional punishment is merited, even if it’s not liked,” and he remembered his own punishments with a wince. “But this goes beyond a simple punishment. I’m not saying that you should just throw Isaac’s father into a cell. Not without proof or at least enough evidence, which is hard to get, I know that.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him, Stiles,” John said with a sigh, and Stiles blew out the breath he hadn’t noticed he’d been holding. “Maybe you and Scott could try to befriend Isaac. The boy always seems to be alone, when I see him.”

“Now I feel slightly stupid at not having thought about that,” Stiles grumbled when his father chuckled. “I’ll talk to Scott and see if we can find something that could be interesting for Isaac since I’m not sure that having them tag along through the forest will be all that helpful.”

“True enough,” John nodded while taking a look around. Stiles followed his gaze across the slightly crooked shelves and hazardously high stacked parchments. Most of them were already bleached from the sun that shone in from the windows. Here and there was a hole in the wood. It made Autumn and Winter days rather uncomfortable, no matter how hot the small stone hearth was burning.

“Maybe I’ll ask them to help me rebuild the room.” It wasn’t such a bad idea, now that he thought of it. Scott liked working with his hands, and Isaac was tall enough to reach the ceiling without trouble.

Lost in his thoughts and ideas, Stiles didn’t notice how his father shook his head smiling, before he turned around to leave.

*~*~*~*

It was already well past midday when Stiles finally managed to escape Mrs Reyes’ thankfulness; not like he hadn’t expected it. Erica was on her way of recovery even though she was still too weak to do anything more than drink the broth and sleep. They’d managed to catch the infection before it was too late, even though the scratch had looked bad enough to him. He’d also managed to talk to Scott for a moment, who was unsurprisingly happy about the plan to befriend Isaac. His best friend loved making new friends and always jumped at the possibility to help someone, even if he wasn’t always able to do so.

Making his way along the path he’d used so much already, Stiles felt himself relax again. He hadn’t noticed just how tense he’d still been until he was finally back in familiar territory. The air was filled with the humming of insects and birdsong. The scent of wet moss hung heavily around him underlined by the subtleness of tree sap. Leaves and branches drew dancing shadows onto the ground where the sun managed to break through the tree tops. It was cool but not uncomfortable.

It felt like home.

Stiles smiled to himself while he swung his mother’s basket around a bit. It was still empty, so there was nothing that could be damaged by falling out. His knife, freshly sharpened before he left, was safely strapped to his belt. The sheath was thick enough to keep him safe from accidentally stabbing himself when he would stumble over a newly risen root. That would have put a rather unfortunate end to his travels through the woods and his work for the town.

The grin couldn’t be contained when the trees finally grew a bit lighter and the familiar babble of the small river became steadily louder. Stiles eyes needed a moment to get used to the bright sunlight again when he stepped out from beneath the trees’ shadows. The blackened ruins of the hut still stood out starkly against the bright green background.

It looked just the same as the last time and yet something felt _off_. Stiles frowned but shook his head a moment later. Maybe he should have slept a while longer than he had because there was nothing unusual about the remains of the hut. They looked just like they always did. A bit mysterious, a bit sad and full of history. In the beginning, when he’d first stumbled over them, Stiles had often lain awake at night, trying to imagine what had happened back then, and how the only survivors must have felt. His heart still clenched painfully when his thoughts returned there. He knew loss.

Running his left hand across his face, as if trying to wipe the sad thoughts away, Stiles sighed. It was all in the past now. A look at the sky told him that he wouldn’t have much daylight left if he didn’t get to collecting soon and making his way out of the forest in the dark wasn’t high on his priority list.

Stiles’ grip on the slender handle tightened slightly when he started to walk towards the back of the ruined house. The old garden of the family was settled there, overgrown and wild again. Yet the plants he found there were of a much higher quality than the ones he found in the rest of the forest. They were bigger, more colourful and the rich fragrance often made him dream of running through the meadows underneath a full moon.

Making his way along the small path with quick yet careful steps, Stiles frowned slightly. Thinking about his dreams made him remember the last time he’d been at the old house. He was still sure that the wolf he’d seen had been a figure of his imagination, but the uncomfortable feeling remained.  His steps faltered slightly when he reached the old gate leading into the garden. It was closed.

Stiles was very sure that he’d left it open the last time he’d been there because getting it open in the first place had been slightly difficult. The metal lock had been rusted shut through the years; he’d nearly broken the blade of his knife trying to force it into moving. His father would have had his head, if it had been damaged.

Staring at the offending door for a few more seconds, Stiles’ thoughts continued to run in circles until he snorted and shook his head. It had been slightly stormy the night before, and the wind must have pushed the gate closed. There was nothing strange about that. It happened often enough that the door to his shack slammed shut due to a burst of wind. It had cost him more than a few bottles and flasks over time.

“I’m getting paranoid,” Stiles sighed, resolutely pushing the day where he’d seen the huge wolf at the edge of the forest out of his mind. It had only been a trick the light had played on him. Nothing strange about it. Certainly nothing that should make him nervous.

And maybe he would believe it if he repeated it often enough.

*~*~*~*

Stiles hummed a soft melody his mother had taught him, while his hands were busy cutting the plants. He was careful not to crush the tiny petals or the soft leaves when he removed them from  the bush and placed them in his basket, which had grown quite full already. Wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, Stiles moved to glance up at the sky. It was getting late already. He would have to hurry if he wanted to gather some of the other ingredients from the front of the hut before the sun vanished behind the trees. There weren’t many plants left that he had to gather, and he could have done it the next day just as easily. Yet, Stiles decided that he still had enough time to get them. That way he could use the next day for brewing, cooking and stocking up what he needed. That was the plan after all.

A groan escaped his lips when he straightened his back before standing up. His feet and legs tingled viciously and almost made him stumble back to the ground. They must have fallen asleep from kneeling for such a long time. Stiles winced and slowly twisted and shook his feet, trying to get rid of the prickling sensation. Meanwhile, his gaze travelled over to the house. The shadows there had grown longer while the time passed. But they couldn’t hide the fact that something else had changed there as well.

The last time he’d been there, only three days before, the remaining beams had been overgrown with ivy and other plants. The green had covered the blackened wood quite effectively, hiding the dead under a thick blanket of life. Now, though, the ivy was gone, and the red light of the setting sun made the wood seem darker than it should be. It felt slightly surreal, like it wasn’t supposed to be there at all. Stiles wasn’t sure what he was supposed to make of it.

 _It could have been an animal_ , he thought to himself but rebuked that thought almost as quickly. An animal would have ripped off patches of green, leaving the rest more or less untouched. But the beams were completely laid bare in front of him, which made him think of the poachers that occasionally moved through the forests. They never really did any harm to the people of the town, and there was enough game that the hunters weren’t too worried about losing one or two bucks. His father only had to step in when the hunting went overboard and the population was in danger. The confrontations usually ended well enough.

His knife trembled just as hard as his arm when he allowed his eyes to travel across the ruins. Now, that he consciously looked for them, Stiles could see the other changes that must have happened over the last days. Not only had the support beams been freed of the plants; the floor, still just as black as the rest of the house, was cleaned of rubble and dirt. Like someone had come in to sweep it away.

Someone had been here. Stiles wondered, if someone actually tried to make the space livable or if they just wanted to see whether or not it could be salvaged and used again. He wasn’t sure whether or not he wanted to meet whoever was working on the house.

For now, though, it seemed that he was alone at the clearing. There was no movement inside the ruin, and the shadows didn’t move. Well, no more than the sun would allow them to move., which meant he could still get the plants he needed if he was quick and quiet enough.  

Decision made, Stiles turned around and made his way out of the garden. Even though he walked at a fast pace, the hand holding the basket remained almost motionless. It would defeat the purpose of his trip out here if he lost what he’d already gathered just because he hadn’t been careful enough. Once outside the gate, though, Stiles stopped again, trying to decide whether or not he should close the gate again. If it were poachers who had taken up residence in the old ruin, then it would probably best to try and put everything the way it was. Nodding to himself, Stiles pushed the gate closed again. Better safe than sorry, his mother used to say.

Once that was done, Stiles made his way around the side of the ruin. This time he looked at it, instead of ignoring the remains of the house. The outside walls, or what was left of them, had been cleaned as well. There was no trace of ivy to be seen. Whoever had done this had been very thorough with his or her work. They probably checked if they could use some of the old beams.  

Stiles made a mental note to let his father know about it. If someone settled in for the long haul, then the Sheriff needed to know about it. Maybe the people weren’t poachers at all. He remembered his father saying something about a new family coming into town. It could be them who wanted to rebuild the house. It sounded plausible enough, but Stiles wasn’t convinced. As far as he knew, the new family wasn’t even in town yet, and the house had already been worked on. So, poachers it was.

He’d just rounded the corner of the house, when something in the corner of his eye caught his attention. It was the merest hint of movement, but Stiles knew that he wasn’t as alone as he had thought himself to be. His steps faltered, again, before his whole body came to a stop. The hilt of his knife pressed painfully into the palm of his hand, but he couldn’t bring himself to loosen the grip he had on it.  

Slowly, the figure stepped out of the shadows and into the red light of the sun. It was a man; tall, with broad shoulders and narrow hips. His hair was black, but with a reddish shine where the last rays of sunlight touched it. His brows, which were impressively big and pulled tight in a rather judgemental way, were just as dark and the bottom part of his face was hidden beneath a layer of black scruff.

Stiles swallowed dryly when the man came closer and those big arms crossed over his chest. The pose made his biceps even more impressive than they already were. A shiver raced down his spine only to develop into a full body shudder. There was something dangerous about the man. Not just his appearance, which already screamed _rogue_. There was something else; something Stiles wasn’t sure he could name even if he knew _what_ it was.

“Uhm,” was the first thing that came out  of Stiles’ mouth. Not the most intelligent but at least a sound. He had been worried for a second that he wouldn’t be able to say anything; to explain why he was there in the first place. “Yeah, so sorry to disturb you, but I’m only there to gather some plants, you know, to make teas and balms and stuff to help the people from town. My mother used to do that and the plants from around the house are the best, as I’m sure you know. They have a way better effect than the others in this forest. So yeah.”

The stranger only raised an eyebrow, and Stiles closed his eyes for a second. It seemed that his mouth had been talking the whole time while his head hadn’t quite caught up on the action. Sometimes he hated the fact that he could talk without thinking. It got him into trouble most of the time. Just like right now it seemed.

“Well, it was nice meeting you,” he grinned, feeling slightly panicky because the man showed absolutely no reaction besides his lifted eyebrow. A rather disconcerting thing, if Stiles was honest with himself. The complete lack of reaction meant that he couldn’t anticipate what the man would do. For all he knew, the man could already be planning his burial. Which might be somewhere on the other side of the river, because the dirt there wasn’t too hard to dig up. And why was he thinking about that now? That certainly wasn’t a positive thought to be had.

“Anyway, I’ll be going now!” Scrambling backwards, to keep his eyes on the stranger, Stiles tried to get away from the ruined house. It was already dangerously close to being fully dark, a fact that had him wince. The man didn’t follow him, or at least Stiles couldn’t see him move.

Once he’d made it to the tree-line, Stiles turned around and ran. He made it a couple of steps down the path before his foot caught against a root and sent him crashing to the ground. The basket was ripped from his hand and tumbled away into the darkness. Stiles tried to get up as quickly as he could and yelped when his knife reminded him painfully that he was still holding it. Not only had his fingers began to cramp around the hilt, he’d also managed to cut himself on the sharp edge.

Thankfully, it wasn’t a deep cut, though Stiles could still feel his warm blood soaking through the fabric of his pants. He cursed quietly, when he finally managed to get his feet back under him. The cut stung but it wasn’t a crippling pain, for which Stiles was grateful. That way he could try and ignore it while trying to get out of the forest. He knew that his chances were slim already. It was dark, and the man hadn’t looked like he would let him get out alive.

Glancing back to where the trees opened into the clearing, Stiles was glad to see nothing but the sliver of red that slowly turned into the night sky. Of course that didn’t mean that he wasn’t being followed. The shadows, that were currently hiding him, could also be hiding the man who had settled down in the old ruin.

Stiles shivered. He had a decision to make and quickly. Should he leave his mother’s basket behind, risking to never see it again, or should he try to find it in the darkness with the risk of the stranger actually following him? There was no telling whether or not he could escape a second time around.

In the end, the decision was taken out of his hand as a low growl came from his right side. It was followed by the unmistakable breaking of twigs. Stiles turned his back to the clearing and moved as quickly as he could along the path. His heart broke at the thought of never seeing his mother’s basket again, but saving his life had to take the higher priority.

And maybe he could come back, later with his father and some of his men, to see whether or not the stranger had settled in. He could look for his basket then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As alway, feedback is very welcome! So, either leave a comment here or [here](http://acaranna.tumblr.com/)!


	3. Chapter Three

“And her smile is like the sun, so beautiful and bright and perfect.”

Stiles sighed and barely managed to stave off the urge to bang his head against the wooden beam in front of him. It wouldn’t be half as painful as listening to his best friend wax poetic about the new family’s daughter - Allison Argent. Behind himself, he could hear Isaac trying to silence his laughter. It was still somewhat shy and didn’t go on for long, but at least they had managed to make him laugh in the first place.

Isaac had been quiet and wary when they came to pick him up from his house. Which was understandable, Stiles thought, remembering the suspicious look Mr. Lahey had given them. He had expected the older man to make some kind of excuse as to why Isaac wouldn’t be able to help them. As far as he was aware, it had happened in the past and way more than just once.

Maybe his father had spoken to him beforehand. It was a distinct possibility after Stiles had told him to keep an eye on the man. Even now he was able to spot the faint bruises on Isaac’s shoulder, where the shirt was already thin enough to be see-through.

“Stiles?” Isaac’s quiet voice pulled him back from his thought. He turned his head to look at the taller boy standing behind him. “Where should I put this?” Isaac lifted the bag in his hands as a way of explanation. He looked unsure in a way that made Stiles want to hurt someone. He never really felt that protective about people who didn’t belong to his family, yet seeing the boy, who was taller than him and should by rights be proud of it, try and make himself smaller broke his heart.

“Put it over there, next to the cauldron and other stuff.” He pointed to a spot right next to the backdoor of the house and smiled when Isaac nodded. Somewhere behind him Scott was still prattling on about Allison and the way her hair was like spun gold. Not matter the fact that she was brunett.

_“Cauldron?”_ Isaac asked, with a shy smile, even though he move over to put the bag down carefully. “When did you become a witch?” Stiles looked over from where he was busy slotting two pieces of wood together. The words could have been taken as an insult, yet he knew that they weren’t. Mostly because Isaac looked like he wanted to hide. His eyes were wide and he bit his bottom lip, hard.

“Oh, you know,” Stiles shrugged, grinned mischieviously, before turning back to his work. “Always have been one. I tend to dance around the cauldron when the moon’s full. Makes for lovely potions and spells, very powerful as well.”

His words were met with silence from both boys.

“But you don’t eat children, do you?” The uneasiness in Isaac’s voice tugged painfully on Stiles’ heartstrings, and his reply died before he’d even drawn the breath to say it. Instead, he shook his head and turned back around, to face their, hopefully, new friend.

“No, Isaac,” he said seriously. “Neither do I dance around the cauldron. Witches don’t exist, so I can’t be one.” His smile turned into a grin when Isaac started laughing. Granted, it  was a very quiet laugh, but a laugh nonetheless.

“And here I’ve been looking forward to seeing you dance,” Scott teased from somewhere behind him, before yelping in surprise. Stiles turned around just in time to see his best friend hopping around on one foot while holding the other with both hands.

“Stop jumping around, before you fall over and hurt yourself even more,” he barely suppressed the eyeroll that threatened to appear. He’d been waiting for something to happen. “Isaac, could you help him over to the stairs by the backdoor? I’ll go and get my bag.”

“Sure,” Isaac shrugged; walked over to where Scott was swaying dangerously on one leg. Once both boys were on their way towards the back of the house and the stairs there, Stiles turned around to look for his first aid bag.

*~*~*~*

It was already dark outside when they finished rebuilding the shack. Though it looked more like a small house now. It even had two rooms for him to work in, where before there only was one. Stiles had plans for those two rooms, but they had to wait until the next day. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to eat something and then fall into bed. Morning would come early enough for him anyway.

He opened the door and heaved himself inside. It should have been dark in the kitchen but his father had left a candle burning on the upturned stone-pot next to the door. It’s flame flickered slightly from the wind caused by the opening door, but it thankfully didn’t go out. He took the candle and held it away from the gust of wind coming from the closing door. After bolting it for the night, Stiles brought the candle over to the table and set it down.

A yawn forced itself past Stiles’s lips, making his jaw crack loudly. It also made him wince from the noise. Though, he didn’t let the weird feeling afterwards stop him from getting some bread and cheese, along with an apple. Placing his food on the table, Stiles contemplated getting himself a goblet with water or whether he should simply drink the wine his father had left standing there. It wasn’t a strong one anyway, only the sort everyone drank in the evening.

There was a knock on the back-door, just when Stiles had decided to simply drink the rest of the wine and moved to sit down. His hand stopped hovering over the jug, while his eyes flitted over to the source of the noise. He wasn’t expecting anyone and especially not at this time of the night. Though it wasn’t that unusual for people to come to him at all times of day. Sickness and pain didn’t come with a regular time.

So Stiles sighed tiredly and pushed himself away from the table. He rubbed a hand over his face, though it did little to wake him up. It only seemed to smear the dust and dirt on his face around. He’d have to give himself at least a quick wash before falling into bed. Otherwise, his sheet would turn from gray to brown pretty quickly. Taking the candle up, Stiles unconsciously reached for his knife. It was safely tugged into his belt and within easy reach, should he need it. Not that he had before.

“I’m coming,” he groaned, a bit louder in order to be heard through the door. If the knocking continued for too long his father would probably wake up as well, and that wasn’t a chance Stiles was willing to take. Not because he would be in trouble, but because his father needed all the sleep he could get.

A young woman stood before him when Stiles opened the door and lifted the candle to see something. Her eyes immediately went to the candle, a mixture of emotions flickering over her face. There were too many to make them out one by one, yet he was sure that fear was among them.

“Uhm, hello? Is there something I can do for you?” Stiles asked, not sure what else he could say. He hadn’t seen the woman before, so maybe she was staying at the taverne for the night? Did she need his help with something? It was rare, but there had been a few travellers he’d helped since taking over the work his mother had done. It was a plausible explanation, but he doubted that it was true.

Her gaze jumped up from watching the candle to looking at him. Stiles frowned as soon as he saw her face more clearly. It might only have been a trick of light, but he was sure that her eyes flashed golden for a second. Then he blinked to wipe away the hazy veil in front of his vision. A definite sign that he needed to sleep sooner rather than later.

“You lost something when you stole the plants out of our garden.” Something was shoved into his chest. It took his body a moment to recognize the orders from his brain because he was still trying to make sense of her words. “I’d stay out of our woods if you know what’s good for you.”

Then she turned around, walking back into the darkness. Stiles stared after her until the night swallowed her body. Only then did he look down at what was cradled safely in his arm. It was his mother’s basket and it wasn’t empty. Not like he’d had expected it to be.

Stiles closed the door without taking his eyes off the delicate flowers. It was only after he’d gone to bed, feeling too keyed up to fall asleep, that he remembered that he hadn’t told his father about the new _inhabitants_ of the old, burned out hut. They could have killed him and easily at that. Granted, it wouldn’t have been long before his father would have come looking for him. Still, they could have gotten quite the head start.

So the question remained in his head, when he finally found his way into Morpheus’ arms: _Why hadn’t they killed him?_

*~*~*~*

Stiles knew that by now, he should have been used to his plans either being foiled or failing in one way or another. It had happened often enough in the past, and it would happen again in his future. Still, it came as a bit of a surprise when his father waited for him the next morning, instead of heading out as soon as he was done eating his breakfast.

“Good morning, son,” the Sheriff said, when Stiles walked through the kitchen door while still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The last few days sat heavy in his bones. First the meeting with the poachers, or well, possible poachers, then the wolf directly afterwards. Though Stiles still thought that he must have imagined it. And then the woman from the night before. It felt like a strange dream even though it was real. His mother’s basket, now sitting on a chair in his room, was proof of that.

“Morning, Dad. What are you still doing home? Not, that I’m not glad that you’re here for a change, but didn’t you make plans for today?” Stiles knew that his father had made plans for the day, he always had. Though he wasn’t exactly sure _what_ plans his father had made and with whom.

While he was thinking of plans already, Stiles had to make a new one and soon. Mainly about how he wanted to let his father know about what was going on in the old hut. Though he couldn’t help the feeling that maybe he should check on them alone at first. Maybe they’d already moved on, now that they knew the hut was visited regularly. Though the chance of that happening was slim at best. Maybe he could convince them to leave? He was the son of the local Sheriff after all, even if they had little to no crime.

“Have you introduced yourself to the new family yet?” his father asked, effectively pulling Stiles from his thoughts. He’d completely forgotten about the new inhabitants in their lovely, little town.

“Not yet, no,” he replied, after he’d swallowed the bite he’d taken before. “It kind of slipped my mind, what with the reconstruction of the shack.” _And the possibility of poachers out in the hut, with one of them visiting last night._ Though he didn’t say that last part out loud. He knew that he should tell his father about them, yet he hesitated. Something in the way the woman from the night before had said _our garden_ and _our forest_ made him doubt his earlier thoughts about them being poachers. It hadn’t sounded like a threat, more like a piece of advice, even though words could be deceiving. Then again, he’d been dead on his feet when she showed up, so it could be a fault in his memory. He had to make sure first.

His father nodded in understanding, though it was clear that putting it off for longer was not an option. So Stiles prepared himself for a day around town. He needed to check up on Erica and visit Mrs. Cooper, anyway. The visit to the hut in the forest could possibly wait for one more day.

“They live in the house across from old Lizzy Evans, right?” he clarified. His father nodded once, before he stood up to put the bread and cheese away. “Good, I’ll pay them a visit when I’m done checking up on Erica. She should feel better with every day, but I’d like to keep an eye on that scratch of hers.” Stiles wanted to say more, mainly about Mrs. Cooper, but his father’s expression made him cautious.

“Erica is a lovely young lady, Stiles,” he started, closing and bolting the pantry door. “And you’re seventeen already.” It finally clicked in his head at that moment.

“Dad,” Stiles sighed, slightly exasperated. “Erica is lovely and nice, and she will make a great wife for someone, I’m sure of that. But that someone isn’t me, Dad.” His father meant well, Stiles knew that, but he had other things in his life that needed his attention. In that moment, it was the oncoming meeting with the new family, and immediately after that came the hut with it’s inhabitants.

“I only want you to be happy, son,” his father smiled, sad yet knowing, and Stiles understood. His father hoped that he would find someone that could make him as happy as his mother had made him. Something in his chest squeezed tightly.

“I know that, Dad,” standing from his chair, Stiles walked over and wrapped his arms tightly around his father. “I know, and I promise that one day I’ll find someone. Just not yet. Right now this town needs me more than I need a wife or someone else in general. But you will see me happy one day.”

*~*~*~*

Meeting new people was never a problem for Stiles. He either charmed them by knowing a lot about local plants and how to use them. Or he broke the awkward first silence by either falling, tripping, flailing or stumbling over air. One way or another, he met new people and left a first impression.

Meeting the Argents, though, went slightly different than usual.

He’d barely finished his second knock when the door flew open and a young woman, with long, dark hair smiled at him. She was a good bit shorter than him, and yet, it felt like she could look down on him if she wanted to. Her big, equally dark eyes took in his appearance in one quick sweep, almost too fast to notice. The smile grew even wider, though it looked slightly forced.

“You must be Stiles, I’m Allison. Please come inside,” and that was how Stiles met Allison Argent, the woman who kept his best friend up a night. She was nice and only almost pulled his arm out of it’s socket when tugging him into the house. He was too surprised to react much, though, which allowed her to pull him through the house.

“So, you’ve been expecting me,” Stiles finally managed to say after being led into the simple but comfortable kitchen. Allison tilted her head from one side to the other before nodding once. Her smile hadn’t vanished, though it became smaller and more open. It looked more honest as well.

“More or less, yes,” she sat down on one of the empty chairs. “Please, have a seat. The rest of my family should be home in a couple of minutes. I hope you’d like to meet them as well. As the son of the Sheriff, I mean.” It took Stiles a moment to bring his thoughts back into order. It didn’t happen all that often, mainly because he knew all of the people of Beacon Hills by now, but he could still be surprised.

“Did my father tell you that I would come today?” Of course he was curious about why she expected him to come by _right then_. Allison lowered her head and chuckled softly. Stiles took the moment to get a better look at her. She was shorter than him, with long curly brown hair, that fell well below her shoulders. Her body was of a slender build, unobscured by the masses of fabric dresses usually held. Instead, she wore clothes not unlike his own. A tunic, pants and high boots, all in basic greens and browns. Like the hunters wore.

“Uhm, no, your father only said that you’d come by eventually,” Allison said, after a few moments. “He mentioned that you’re out the woods very often, to collect plants and roots. For potions?” She sounded honestly curious. Stiles sighed and rolled his eyes with a smile. Of course his father had talked about him and what he liked to do.

“I wouldn’t call them potions,” he responded with a huff. “They’re nothing magical or special, only herbal teas and balms to help the people around town, you know?” Stiles couldn’t help it but something about the situation felt off. The skin at the back of his neck grew hot and prickled uncomfortably. He lifted his hand to rub the sensation away, while keeping a close eye on Allison. It didn’t seem to originate from her, though.

“That still sounds like we found ourselves a little witch,” a voice laughed from behind him. Stiles jumped up, whirled around and tripped over the table’s leg. He barely managed to prevent himself from hitting the ground but he didn’t care about that. His heart kept hammering in his chest and his cheeks flushed red when the woman, who had surprised him, laughed again.

“Aunt Kate!” Allison chastised, though she was obviously hiding her own chuckles. “It’s not nice to sneak up our guests!” Stiles watched the woman, Kate, with wary eyes. She was beautiful, he could admit that. Her blond hair was pulled back into the low ponytail most women wore when they worked. She was dressed almost the same as Allison was, though her’s were a combination of blacks and browns. The most noticeable article, though, was the scabbard hanging from her belt. It was empty, but it was still enough to make Stiles feel uncomfortable.

His heart kept beating at a pace that made him think it wanted to break free from the confines of his chest. Kate’s smile, obviously meant to look apologetic, didn’t calm him in the slightest because it didn’t reach her eyes. If there was one thing his father taught him, and he taught him a lot, it was to always look at a person and especially their eyes.

Kate’s eyes were cold and calculating until she noticed his gaze. Then they changed, softened and even crinkled at the corner. Like she was happy to see him.

“Allison is right, Kate,” a male voice commented from somewhere in the front in the house. Heavy footsteps followed right after, growing louder until the man entered the kitchen as well. He was tall, with short blond-grey hair and three-day old scruff. His eyes were kind and his face open, though Stiles remained wary. He didn’t know whether that man was just as good at acting as Kate was, so for now, he would be careful.

“Excuse my sister,” the man said, throwing a disapproving glance at Kate, who merely shrugged and grinned. Shaking his head once he turned his attention back to Stiles. He straightened his shoulders and held out his hand from Stiles to shake. A woman stepped up behind the man when their hands connected. She was tall, with unusually short, red hair and a stern expression.

“I’m Chris Argent, and this is my wife, Victoria. You’ve already met our daughter, Allison.” The handshake was short but firm. He could feel callouses against his skin; a sign that the man was used to working with his hands.

“I’m Stiles Stilinski, the son of the Sheriff. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Stiles replied, not sure  whether his words were a lie or the truth. Kate snorted and shook her head. The look in her eyes sent a shiver down his spine. Something was off about her and he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was dangerous.

“If it’s such a pleasure, then why did you wait so long before coming over to introduce yourself? Were you afraid for some reason?” she asked, while leaning back against the door jam. “And what kind of name is Stiles anyway? Makes you sound like someone who doesn’t want to give up his real name.” The smirk on her face made him frown for a moment.

“Kate! Behave!” Chris chastised, though his tone was more annoyed than angry; like he was used to her being like this. “I’m sorry, Stiles,” he said, turning back to him. But  Stiles just shook his head and grinned, the uneasy feeling growing in his stomach. He really needed to talk to his father. There was something strange about this family, yet he wasn’t able to pinpoint what it was.

“It’s fine, Mr. Argent,” he said, trying to keep his unease hidden, “I get that question quite a lot, and the explanation for my name is simple. The name my mother gave me can only be pronounced by myself and my father.” Stiles shrugged, turning his gaze towards Allison, who sat quietly on the chair and watched the whole scene unfold. She seemed to be the only one who didn’t have a secret agenda, yet he knew that looks could be deceiving.

“And what is your name, then?” Kate asked with a snort, ignoring the dark glare her brother sent her way. “I don’t think it can be bad enough to warrant you changing it into something so ridiculous.” Even Victoria who had, until then, been entirely expressionless, frowned at her sister-in-law.

So Stiles shook his head with a quiet sigh and said his name. Then he tried to suppress the grin that wanted to escape because as good an actor as Kate Argent seemed to be, the blank look on her face couldn’t have been played.

“That’s not a name,” she hissed, when she found her balance again. “That sounds like a sickness invented by witches to lure in the good people.” Stiles’ eyes narrowed, and he fixed her with a dark look. She didn’t seem impressed by it.

“You seem to be rather fixated on witches,” he said with a nasty smirk, “are you sure, you’re not one yourself?” Then he turned around to look at Mr. and Mrs. Argent again completely ignoring Kate’s angry hiss. Putting on an apologetic smile, while inwardly deciding to talk to his father as soon as he returned home, Stiles said: “I’m sorry, sir, it was not my intention to show you a negative image of our lovely little town. So, please, let me welcome you in the name of Beacon Hills and it’s inhabitants.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As alway, feedback is very welcome! So, either leave a comment here or [here](http://acaranna.tumblr.com/)!


	4. Chapter Four

Stiles’ plan had once again been derailed before he had been able to put it in motion. He’d left the Argents soon after he’d officially welcomed them to Beacon Hills. Kate’s angry gaze had burned hot on the back of his head, but he hadn’t turned around to answer it with his own glare. Instead, he’d kept his gaze on the clock tower of their church, which had unfailingly led him to the market place. His plan, then, had been to visit the bakery, get loaded up with whatever Mrs Cooper wanted to feed him before heading back home to prepare for the talk to his father.

Once he had been back to the house, Stiles had put the bread and sweet treats into the pantry before heading back out into his shack. There, he’d whiled away the rest of the afternoon with sorting his flasks, jars and different paraphernalia he needed for creating his concoctions. Time had passed rather quickly, because many of the utensils had triggered a happy memory of his mother.

The sun had barely reached the treetops when Stiles put the last knife down and took a look over the room and the shelves along the sides. His mother would have loved it just like he did. They probably would have spent hours in here, creating new tinctures to help until his father would come out to remind them of the world outside the shack. They both had the ability to lose the track of time when they’d been deep in their own head. Stiles knew that he still could do it.

He’d just put the bread on the table when the first lightning bolt lit up the sky. A second later a clap of thunder had nearly deafened him. Stiles barely had had the time to reach the windows in order to close the shutters. The wind had picked up and howled around the house, while it sent the shutters upstairs crashing into the walls. When he reached those, it had taken all of his strength to pull them closed. He’d doubted that the bolt would be enough to keep them closed, but at least it held in that moment.

The next clap of thunder had cracked directly over the town and Stiles had found himself cowering in the corner of the hallway. He’d been on the way to his room to grab some blankets, and since he’d closed the shutters there wasn’t even the lightning to warn him. It had also kept him from seeing the trees outside the house. There was no telling whether or not they were being pushed towards the house. And if that happened. Stiles hadn’t even wanted to think about that.

He’d seen the results of storms. Houses with blown off roofs, barns that had been completely demolished by the wind. Trees uprooted, streets flooded with the rain water, animals scattered and finally killed in the wilderness. His father had also told him that there had been a boy once who’d been swept away by the flood created from the rain. Or old Mr. Harris, who’d been struck by lightning. Those memories had caused Stiles to start thinking about whether or not his father had been inside or if he’d already been on his way home. He’d prayed that his father hadn’t been caught outside.

The rest of the night, Stiles had sat on the kitchen floor, wrapped into two blankets because of the cold draught rushing through the cracks and holes in the walls. He hadn’t slept that night, alternately watching the flickering flame of the clock candle in front of him and listening to the wind howling. His thoughts had circled around the fact that he didn’t know where his father was and whether or not he’d be safe.

The storm lasted for two full days, and by then, Stiles was a nervous mess. He didn’t sleep well, curled up beneath the kitchen table. As soon as the wind stopped rattling on the shutters, Stiles threw on his coat and ran out the door. He slipped on the wet ground when his feet hit the road leading up to the town’s center. Thankfully, though, he managed to flail into the right direction which allowed him to prevent himself from falling flat on his face.

Stiles’ attention stayed on the road though he couldn’t help wincing when he saw some of the houses. Or what the storm had left of them. Isaac’s house was completely destroyed by the looks of it, and something cold settled in his stomach. The tall, shy boy had been growing on him, and the thought of him being buried beneath a load of rubble was not something Stiles was able to bear.

“Stiles! Slow down before you break your neck!”

He slipped but didn’t care about the pain. Or the way his clothes were going to be caked in mud and might even have ripped in some places. His father was still there. Alive and well enough to yell at him. Something in his chest eased and Stiles found it easier to breathe again. The ground was cold, but he stayed down for a few more minutes.

*~*~*~*

“So, where will Isaac stay? Once he’s better again, I mean,” Stiles asked, once he took his seat at the table. A steaming bowl stood in front of him. His father was already eating, alternately taking a spoonful of the vegetable soup Stiles had made, before dipping pieces of bread into it. He looked tired but thoughtful. And sad. Which was understandable, considering that they hadn’t had any losses, due to a storm, over the years his father had been the Sheriff. This time nature had taken a life. Though Stiles had to admit that he wasn’t all that sorry about losing Mr Lahey.

His father hummed while he chewed slowly. It was his job to make sure that the people in town, especially the children, were safe. So the fact that Isaac had suffered at the hand of his father, without anyone noticing, didn’t sit well with the Sheriff. Or with the other townspeople.

Stiles had to admit that he found it slightly ironic how the one thing Lahey senior did to punish his son, was the one thing that actually saved Isaac’s life during the storm. If he hadn’t been locked into the cellar for the night, he would have been crushed the same way his father had been. Yet it had taken them two days to clear away enough of the rubble and remains of the house to get to the entrance of the cellar.

“There are quite a few people, who would be willing to take him in,” the words pulled Stiles out of his thoughts and he looked back at his father. The Sheriff stared into his bowl as if it held all the answers. “Though I’m not sure whether or not it would be a good idea to make him live with someone he had never, or just very rarely, talked to.” He paused again sighing. “Right now he’s staying McCall’s house. Melissa was quite stubborn, and it didn’t help that Scott chimed in as well. You know how he gets.”

“That I do. Maybe we could ask Melissa if she’d be willing to let him stay with her,” Stiles interrupted, after swallowing a bite that was a bit too big and made him tear up. “He knows Scott and got to know Melissa a bit by now. That way he wouldn’t feel completely lost, and he would have someone to talk to.” It wasn’t ideal but a good deal better than what Isaac had before. His father seemed to think so as well because he nodded his head.

“You have a point there, son,” the Sheriff said, pushing his empty bowl to the side. “I’ll stop at her house when I head back.” There was still a lot of damage to repair, and many families helped each other cope. Some had lost their livestock, others their home. But Beacon Hills was nothing if not adaptable. Even the Whittemores, the wealthiest family in town, opened their rooms for those who lost everything.

“How are the Argents doing? I can imagine that this wasn’t the beginning they had imagined,” Stiles said after a moment of quietness. He’d seen them help, even Kate, whom he still didn’t have a good feeling about. She’d sent him looks that made his skin prickle. Allison, on the other hand, was someone he could imagine himself being friends with. She hadn’t asked many questions, opting instead to help out him and Melissa.

“They’re doing as well as can be expected,” his father answered after a moment’s hesitation. It made Stiles frown though the Sheriff continued talking before he could ask. “They were asking if we had some strange animal attacks recently. Or if we’d seen any strangers out in the woods. Kate was especially interested as to whether or not _you_ have met someone out in the woods. Since they seem to be your second _home_.”  Stiles couldn’t hide the grin because his father’s tone told him what he thought of her words.

“Well, she did call me a _little witch_ ,” he snorted but didn’t miss the sharp look his father gave him, like he knew something that Stiles didn’t. Which wouldn’t even be surprising considering this father had a lot more years of experience than him. “Anyway, there’s something strange about her. I don’t know if it concerns the whole family,” he went on, “because Allison seems like a genuinely nice person. I’m not sure about her parents as well. They’re strange, but not as strange as Kate.”  

“Try to stay away from her, as good as you can, preferably without seeming rude,” his father said, expression still thoughtful. “But Kate’s question is sound, Stiles. You know the forest around us better than anyone else in this town, probably in the whole county. Is there anything out there that I should know about? Anything that might be a threat to the town?”

This was it, wasn’t it? His father just gave him the perfect opportunity to tell him about the hut; about the man and woman who seemed to have moved there. It would be so easy to simply tell him about it. And yet, Stiles found himself hesitating. The words were there but they refused to come. It was like they were stuck in his throat. Something made him hold back. He shook his head after a few more moments of consideration.

“No, there’s nothing out there,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. It prickled hotly. Stiles didn’t like lying to his father. Though, he wondered whether or not he was actually lying to him since he couldn’t be sure that the pair was still at the ruins. Given that they didn’t really have any shelter from the storm, chances were that they had left again. “Just the old ruins, you know.”

*~*~*~*

Stiles had always been a curious child. He had always asked questions, tried to figure things out for himself. If he couldn’t, he would ask his parents question after question until his thirst for knowledge had been sated. His mother had always been patient with him, listened and explained what she could while his father had often floundered a bit. Though he’d tried even harder after wife had passed.

It was that kind of curiosity, the unquenchable thirst for answers, which made Stiles get up earlier than usual four days after the talk with his father. Dawn was still in its early stages, a mere line of lighter sky on the horizon. He dressed as quietly as he could and grabbed his basket. Furthermore, he left his shoes off until he’d made it safely down the stairs and into the kitchen. The soles of his boots always caught on something and most of the time he hit the creaking step close to the bottom. Setting his basket onto the table, Stiles slipped into his boots before heading over to the pantry. He took one of the smaller loaves of bread, a chunk of cheese and four apples. Packing everything into the basket, he hesitated.

Was it really a good idea to head out into the forest? He’d been warned by the woman when she brought his basket back, and the gaze of the man hadn’t been that friendly either. Then again, he needed the supplies if he wanted to keep the town healthy. Or rather, if he wanted to keep their days of illness at the bare minimum. So, he actually needed to go out and collect the plants.

And if it turned out to be the perfect opportunity to check on the old ruins and see if they were still inhabited? Then it was all the better.

Stiles grabbed his knife, freshly sharpened the day before, and slid it into its scabbard. The cut on his thigh wasn’t fully healed yet, but it thankfully hadn’t reopened due to his erratic moving. He tried to be as quiet as he could when he prepared the table for his father. It was a bit funny how the man would forgot to eat if he was left alone to his own devices. Stiles could still remember some days when his mother had him run after his father to bring him a basket with food.

These days a prepared breakfast table was a sure sign that Stiles would be out for most of the day. They’d agreed on this kind of note after the Sheriff had called a search party together when he had been unable to find his son around the town. They’d sat down, talked and in the end it was decided.

“Right,” Stiles whispered, taking one last look across the table to check if he forgot something. He pushed the jug with the wine a little away from the edge before deciding that he had everything settled. Taking one more deep breath, Stiles took his basket and turned towards the door.

The bolt slid back with barely a noise. Outside the air was cool and still held the scent of rain from the shower they had during the night. Stiles smiled, closed his eyes and spent a few moments simply breathing. A shudder ran over his skin and down his spine, indicating that he should get going. He closed the door behind himself and started his journey into the forest.

*~*~*~*

Finding his way through a still night-dark forest wasn’t  something that Stiles did very often. He knew the path like the back of his hand, sure, but managing it when he could barely make out the hand in front of his face was another thing altogether. Adding to that, the weight of the basket pulled painfully on his arm and shoulder.

“Why did I think that this was going to be a good idea?” Stiles groused at himself when he stumbled over yet another root. He regained his balance and took the basket into his other hand. Very slowly, it turned lighter beneath the tree tops, but it still wasn’t enough to differentiate between a simple shadow and a tree root. Or a tree that had been uprooted by the storm and had fallen completely flat. Not that it had happen that much. Most of the trees got caught by others. So his steps turned even more careful, while he took to testing the darkest shadows with his foot before taking the step forward. Travelling like this, made the whole trip a lot longer than it needed to be but at least he wouldn’t run the risk of spilling the food.

The sun just started to peak over the trees when Stiles finally reached the edge of the clearing. He turned his head away from the light for a few moments in order to allow his eyes to get used to the brightness.

“Didn’t I tell you to stay out of our forest?” a familiar female voice reached his ears, surprised and a little annoyed. Stiles quickly moved to wipe across his eyes, drying the tears that had risen due to the blinding light. Once his sight was more or less clear again, he turned around to face the voice’s owner. She was younger than he had initially thought, maybe the same age as himself. Her dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail and she wore clothes that were similar to Allison’s. A tunic and pants in dark green, with sturdy boots; a slender belt wrapped around her middle. She didn’t seem to have any weapons on her but that didn’t have to be the case, as he well knew.

Stiles’ thoughts started wandering and he wondered, if the usual attire for young women had changed recently. Maybe it was the newest fashion in the big towns? He’d only heard about the strange customs people had in towns like San Francisco, where some high class families kept wild animals as pets or paid a lot of money for hair that was not their own. Which was something Stiles didn’t even try to understand. The traders who visited Beacon Hills every Wednesday brought a lot of stories and tales with them and one seemed even more outrageous than the other. Though he started to wonder whether they might be true.

So maybe this whole dressing like a man was something out of the big town. It actually made sense. Both, Allison and the foreign woman in front of him both came from far away. No wonder they seemed so strange to him.

“Hey, did you freeze or something?” Stiles blinked, once then twice before shaking his head to clear his thoughts. The girl, because that’s what she was Stiles decided, stood right in front of him. She wasn’t that much taller than him, which always made him feel like a little boy. Her eyes were of a rich brown, which burned with curiosity and annoyance.

“Uhm, no. No, I’m not. In fact I’m rather warm, thank you. Walking through the forest while carrying a heavy basket does help with getting cozy.” Stiles closed his eyes and shook his head. Again his mouth had run off without his head being aware of it. He really had to focus on keeping his thoughts from wandering. They tended to leave him not only in the dust but in trouble as well. A moment later he sighed and opened his eyes again. The girl looked at him with a raised eyebrow and a brewing storm on her face.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles snorted, not really amused but not even really surprised at himself. “I tend to ramble when I’m caught off-guard.” He surprised himself by falling silent after offering his apology. Usually the words tumbled out of his mouth before he had a chance to reign them in but some unconscious part of his mind must have noticed that he needed to stay quiet.

“What do you want?” the girl all but growled, causing Stiles to take a step back. The sunlight must have been flashing through a gap in the leaves because for a moment the girl’s eyes glowed golden. Stiles rubbed his eyes and frowned. When he looked back at up her eyes were brown again. The basket in his hand seemed to grow heavier the longer he held it in one hand, though it did remind him of why he was there.

“Ah, I’ve actually wanted to see whether or not you’re still here,” Stiles decided to go with the truth. If they wanted to kill him they had plenty of chances by now. They knew where he lived and out here, in this clearing, nobody would hear him scream. The thought alone made his heart race. Yet Stiles didn’t want to turn around. He’d have to stand his ground if he wanted to keep doing his work.

“You wanted to see if we’re still here?” the girl seemed doubtful and wary. She tilted her head to the right and frowned. It seemed like she was trying to figure something out but Stiles couldn’t even imagine what she thought she would find. It made him want to squirm though. He was used to being looked at, with curiosity, disgust, anger, pity. Yet there had never been one who had such an expression of distrust on their face.

“Why?” Stiles had expected that question, so he simply nodded. He put his basket down first, slowly as to not bowl it over. The ground still wasn’t dry again and he didn’t want to throw his bread into the dirt.

“Well, the main reason is because I need the herbs and other plants growing around here,” he started slowly, forcing himself to stay truthful. He couldn’t be sure whether or not he would leave that clearing alive but he knew that lying was one way to not getting out alive. “I help the people around town, with teas, balms and stuff like that and I can’t do that without the herbs growing in this forest. Or the roots. Or the mushrooms. Or some of the flowers. Did you know that most of the plants in your garden can be used to help people? Take the sage for example…”

A low growl interrupted Stiles’ rambling, which was in the process of picking up speed. Just like his heart-rate did. The words died on his lips and he turned his head from side to side, trying to make out from where the growl was coming from.

“Did you hear that?” His gaze settled back on the girl but her expression was carefully blank. Her lips moved, like she wanted to say something.

“Cora!” Whatever the girl’s, Cora’s, reply would have been, it stopped before it even reached her lips. She turned halfway around, probably to glare at whoever dared to interrupt them. Stiles wasn’t sure if he wanted to know what her expression was like. Instead he leaned a bit to the side trying to catch a glimpse at the man himself. Judging by the voice it had to be an older man, maybe the girl’s father?

Stiles’ jaw dropped though, when the owner stepped into view. It was the man he’d met first. The one, who had _stared_ him away from the ruins.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As alway, feedback is very welcome! So, either leave a comment here or [here](http://acaranna.tumblr.com/)!


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been up for a while by now, I know. I just had to edit it because my Darling Beta found some errors that escaped our notices. It should be better now.^^

Stiles was aware that this mouth moved but no noise came out of it. The man in front of him wore a simple dark grey tunic, over black pants and boots. The belt around his waist was broad and held a variety of small pouches, a knife and a small axe. A cold shiver ran down Stiles’ spine when he saw the light glint on the sharp edge of the tool. His eyes jerked upward, from the axe to the face of the man. The lower part of his face was hidden behind what looked like a thick layer of scruff. It was just as black as his hair and a pair of thick eyebrows, which were pulled together in a seriously impressive scowl.

“What are you doing here?” Stiles wasn’t sure but he got the impression that Cora and the man were related in some way. They definitely had the same growl-like tone in their voices. It was deep, raw and made him shiver. No man, and no woman, should have a voice with that kind of roughness.

“Erhm,” Stiles own voice reached a funny high note in that moment. He cleared his throat and felt his cheeks flush slightly. “As I was just telling Cora,” he hesitated after the name, his eyes flicking over to her. She was back to glaring at him. Stiles cleared his throat once more and started again. “As I was telling Cora, I really need the plants and mushrooms and herbs that grow around here. I make teas and balms and stuff like that for the town. We don’t really have a doctor here, because Beacon Hills is so small. And I learned it from my mother, who helped the town before. But she’s dead now and so I’m the only one who really helps. And,” Stiles stopped, heart racing like it always did when he thought about his mother. He shifted his body, which made him hit the basket next to this feet. He frowned and looked down.

“Oh, and I brought you some food,” Stiles grinned and picked up the basket. “I figured that if you were planning on staying, then you might need some food. Other than leaves and the occasional berries. Or maybe…”

“Do you always talk this much?” Cora asked, and, this time, she looked somewhat amused. Stiles felt himself blush even more, though he forced a grin on his face. He rubbed the back of his head with the hand that wasn’t occupied with the basket. A small, somewhat embarrassed chuckle escaped him. Something told him that they wouldn’t kill him. At least not in that moment. He wouldn’t be able to explain why he knew it. He just did.

“Yeah, well,” he started, only to be interrupted again. It was another growl but lower this time. Deeper, like it wasn’t coming from the same animal. Again, Stiles turned his head left and right, trying to figure out if he was hearing things. “Did you hear that? That growl?” He looked back at the pair standing before him and certainly noticed the glance they shared.

“No, we didn’t,” Cora said, slowly turning back towards him. Her face was back to being a mask of blank neutrality. The man beside her wasn’t much better to look at, though he could be called quite handsome - if he wanted to give an objective opinion. The scowl seemed to be permanent, though. It made Stiles shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other. He somehow felt like he was back to being ten years old and he had been called in front of the teacher.

“Perhaps I’ve imagined it then,” Stiles said slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Seems like something I do quite often these last few days.” Silence fell over them, only being broken by the babbling river and the slowly increasing songs of the birds around them. If anyone would come by right now they might be fooled into believing that they were a couple of friends being out for a picnic.

“So, can we come to an agreement?” Stiles asked after a few long moments in which Cora and the man shared a conversation that was entirely held by their eyebrows. He felt a tiny bit of jealousy about it before he remembered that he was able to do the same, with his father and Scott. Most of the time anyway.

“Maybe you should tell us your name first, before we can come to anything,” Cora said, raising one eyebrow again. Stiles stared at her for a long moment, his thoughts a bit derailed. He had already been a lot further down the road in his head. There really were only two options for him; he would either die a rather horrible death or the three of them were coming to an agreement. Adding to him not dying at their hands, an agreement would allow him to gather a bit more information

“I’m Stiles,” he said with a bright smile, after Cora cleared her throat. It seemed that he’d gotten lost in his thoughts yet again. He really needed to work on that. Seconds later, though, his smile slowly slid from his lips when he saw the expression of first surprise and then irritation on the man’s face.

“You’re the Sheriff’s kid,” the man said flatly and Stiles really needed to ask for his name. Still, his mouth dropped open in surprise. Cora, on the other hand, looked from him to the man and back again, like she was trying to figure out what was going on. Or at least that was what it seemed like. If Stiles was really honest with himself, he kind of wanted to know that himself. How did that man know who his father was?

“What?” Stiles asked rather intelligently before shaking his head. “How do you know that?” He didn’t think once about lying to them. What good would it do? Even if they killed him it would be pretty clear rather quickly that he was the _Sheriff’s kid_. Especially when his father found out about it and hunted them down. Even though he’d have to figure out that it had been them, first.

Unfortunately, though, the man didn’t even think about answering him. Instead the scowl returned to his face and he started to stalk back towards the ruins. Cora stared after him for a few seconds before looking back at him. Her lips moved but no sound came from them. It seemed that she wasn’t sure what to say to him. Stiles couldn’t blame her, not really. He wasn’t sure what to say himself.

*~*~*~*

In the end, Cora agreed to let him harvest what flowers and herbs he needed. She even took the bread and cheese after holding both items up to her nose and taking a whiff. Maybe she was checking for mold? Because it was the only thing Stiles could imagine that made cheese smell even worse than it could.  She didn’t take the apples, though. Maybe because she didn’t like them. Some people liked carrots more than apples. He could bring some carrots next time.

“Ouch!” Stiles yelped when his knife sliced through the slender stem of the sage and right into his thumb. He put the bloody digit in his mouth and scowled. It wasn’t often that he cut himself while harvesting the ingredients for his teas. Then again, it wasn’t all that often that he was being watched doing it. Scott had only accompanied him once and had almost ate a poisonous mushroom because it looked similar to the ones Stiles had put into his basket. He hadn’t come with him ever since then.

“Careful, those knives are sharp,” Cora called out from where she was perched on what could have been the back porch of the house. A smirk sat on her lips even though she kept chewing on the piece of bread in her hand. Her half of the cheese laid beside her, on a piece of cloth that had looked clean enough.

“Ha ha,” Stiles groused around his finger. There wasn’t a lot of blood, of course, but he could still make out the faint metallic aftertaste. Pulling his finger back out with a quiet pop, Stiles reached to his left, where he’d put the apples. If they weren’t going to eat them then he would. At least that way he wouldn’t have to go hungry while he took what he needed.

“So, what kind of teas do you make?” Cora asked, when Stiles had just bitten into the red side of the apple. Since his father had raised him to be at least somewhat polite, Stiles chewed first and swallowed before attempting to answer her question. The sound of a cut-off curse made him hesitate though. He raised both eyebrows in question, but only because he hadn’t figured out how to make them move separately. Cora turned her head like she listened for something else. When nothing but the regular sound of an axe splitting wood carried over to them she looked back at Stiles.

“Well?” Her voice jerked him back like a whip.

“Hm? Oh, well, I mainly make teas and balms or salves to help out the people in town. Mostly it’s against pain and problems like that. Sunburns in summer, for example. Or to aid them when they’re ill or have stomach pains,” Stiles explained, slowly munching on his apple. He watched her, just like she watched him. Curious interest and wariness warred for dominance on her face.

“You’re done here?” Both of them jerked away from watching each other. They hadn’t noticed that the hacking sounds had stopped. Now the man stood in what had been a doorway, arms crossed in front of his chest, which made his upper arms look even bigger. Stiles took a deep breath at the sight and promptly started coughing. He’d forgotten that he’d just taken a bite from his apple. His eyes teared up to the sound of Cora laughing.

“Are you trying to kill me?” Stiles wheezed once he wasn’t in danger of suffocating anymore. Cora still cackled, and the man frowned yet again. He was starting to think that this was his normal expression. That he didn’t even have something like a smile or a grin. Did  he even know how to laugh? Somehow he doubted it.

“Derek, don’t be mean to him. That’s my job, and he brought us food,” she grinned, and finally Stiles had a name. _Derek_. The name fit somehow. Not that Stiles ever had known any Dereks to judge, but he liked to think that the name was especially designed for people with permanent scowls.

Derek must have either been able to read his thoughts or seen them on his face because his expression darkened even further. His arms dropped to his sides, but they still looked huge to Stiles, who was not necessarily scrawny but rather lean. Still, he didn’t doubt that he would lose quite spectacularly if it ever came to a fight between the two of them.

“I asked if you’re done here,” Derek repeated, and Stiles got the distinct impression that he was doing his very best to keep it polite or something close to it. So he decided to return the courtesy. It was the least he could do, considering that they hadn’t killed him yet.

“Pretty much, yes, the rest of what I need doesn’t grow here but more on the edge of the forest,” Stiles replied, while he stood up. His back ached something fierce but in the most satisfying way after a long day of work. He slid his knife into its scabbard and looked down at his basket. It wasn’t completely filled just yet and still with plenty of room for other things.

“Good, then get out of here before I rip out your throat out,” Derek grumbled, glared at him before he turned around and stalked away. Stiles stared at the empty spot, confused and not sure how he should react to a threat like that. He’d been threatened before, with swords and scythes and, on one memorable occasion, with a water bucket.

“Guess you should get going then,” Cora grinned, looking down onto the basket with a small frown. “Are you sure that you don’t need more of the sage?” She seemed confused, and Stiles had to smile.

“I usually only get as much as I need for like two or three days,” he explained while he bent down to pick up the basket. “The only time where I take more than this is when I prepare my stocks for the time when it’s not in bloom anymore and for winter. Even then I always make sure that I don’t damage the roots or stems. So that they can grow and bloom again the next year.”

“Right,” Cora nodded, though Stiles got the impression that it wasn’t meant to convey her understanding. Furthermore, it looked more like she was merely acknowledging that he had talked at all. He sighed and rolled his eyes heavenwards with a shake of his head. It wasn’t for everyone, just like his mother had told him, when Jackson had laughed about him.

“Well, I’m off now,” Stiles grinned, took his basket into the other hand to close the gate behind himself. “I’ll see you in a few days then, Cora.” He waved at her before raising his voice. “Good bye, Derek!” Of course he didn’t get a reply, but for Stiles, this was a good start.

*~*~*~*

Saturday morning dawned with a beautiful arrangement of blues and greens and a slight sliver of pink. The first cock-crow of the day echoed across the rooftops and ripped the peaceful silence apart. One by one, the others picked up the noise until each cock had at least crowed once. Slowly, one after the other, the houses started to come to life. Shutters were thrown open to let the fresh air into the house. Chamber pots were emptied, eggs collected and cows milked. All in all, a normal morning in Beacon Hills.

Stiles grinned when he heard his father stumble down the stairs, yawning loudly. It was actually quite impressive, how he managed to get up in the morning, when the day before he hadn’t been home until well into the night. Stiles knew that he himself wouldn’t have been able to wake up this early after staying out. He had a lot of experience in that regard, considering that some of the balms and salves needed a lot of attention so he couldn’t just set them up and then head to bed. He’d done that once, when his mother had still been alive, and the results had been anything but good.

“Good morning, Dad,” Stiles grinned when his father came through the kitchen door, fell into his seat and groaned quietly. It looked like he wasn’t as awake as he wanted to be. Another loud yawn managed to cover the sizzling of the eggs cooking in the pan. He’d somehow known that the Sheriff would need a hearty breakfast after working so late. “Looks like it got a bit later last night.” Stiles winked at his father, who squinted back at him before rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“You’re awfully cheery this morning, son,” the Sheriff mused, pouring himself a goblet of the water. “What has you so chipper?” Of course his father would be curious. It was one of the things that Stiles had inherited from him and what made the man such a good sheriff. Sometimes, though, his father tended to put all of that curiosity onto him and those days were usually filled with teasing and probing questions. Not that Stiles didn’t retaliate whenever he had the chance. Especially when it came to one Melissa McCall.

“Nothing, I’m just in a good mood and got a good night’s sleep, that’s all,” he shrugged and put the eggs, scrambled, with a lot of onions and parsley, onto the thick slices of bread he’d already put onto his father’s plate. “And how did last night go? Did you manage to get Melissa’s fence fixed? From the looks of it, the storm tore it apart quite badly.” Stiles kept his voice light, as if he wasn’t really interested in the answer. Though he set the plate down with a teasing grin and took his seat across from his father, who narrowed his eyes and started to eat without giving him an answer. Not that Stiles had expected anything different. It was an old game already.

“Dad,” Stiles sighed. “You know that I don’t have a problem with you courting Melissa. I mean, Scott is already like my brother I never had and you know that Mom would want you to be happy. And she had always liked Melissa. _And_ she’s considered a widow by now since her husband had vanished shortly after Scott’s fourth birthday, you know that as well, right?” He crossed his arm on the tabletop and laid his head onto them. It wasn’t necessarily pleasant but he could still watch his father this way, and he was too stubborn to change his posture again.

His father remained quiet though and chewed his food with the kind of vigor that spoke of suppressed emotions, good and bad alike. Stiles knew, if he couldn’t have something to focus on, like the breakfast, then his father would probably start talking about Melissa and not stop for several hours. And that was something Stiles found kind of cute on one hand and terribly scary on the other. No boy wanted to hear their parent talk about their possible love-interest.

“I know that, Stiles, but you know that your mother would want you to be happy as well, son,” the Sheriff finally said, after swallowing the last bite of egg. Stiles groaned and leaned his head onto the backrest of the chair. Of course this would turn around again until his own life was the main point. It always did. Stiles gaze travelled over the ceiling, in order to avoid looking at his father’s knowing eyes. He should probably get rid of all the cobwebs in the corners someday soon.

“Dad, we’ve had this discussion how many times by now?” Stiles asked with another sigh. “I’m going to find someone to make me happy, just … not now, alright? At the moment it’s more important to keep the town healthy and happy. You know that as well, right?” He hated these discussions because they always left him feeling like a failure in some regard.  

“I’m just worried, son,” the Sheriff rubbed his hands across his face. “I don’t want people talking about you because you’re not married yet. You do remember that Jackson’s and Lydia’s wedding isn’t that far off anymore. Just another three months, and Mrs Martin has already given me more than just pointed looks.”

“Not to sound insulting, Dad,” Stiles groaned, “but Mrs Martin gives everyone pointed looks. At least everyone who isn’t her daughter. Even Jackson got her evil eye a few times. As far as I know, not that he’s talking to me. For which I’m eternally grateful, if I’m being honest.” His father chuckled and nodded.

“I guess you’re right,” he smiled. “I want you happy and if that takes you a little longer, then so be it.”

*~*~*~*

Stiles loved the Saturday markets. He enjoyed almost nothing as much as wandering between the stalls, looking at what was on offer and maybe even bartering for some pieces. Of course he didn’t have much to barter with but by now the traders, even the new ones, knew that he specialized in herbal medication. Though he himself would never call himself a medic or his tinctures medicine.  That would have required him to study in the big city and Stiles couldn’t even imagine leaving Beacon Hills.

“Stiles!” Scott’s voice cut through the loud voices of people talking and exchanging the latest bit of gossip. His best friend came closer, waving around the people. A somewhat scared looking Isaac followed him like a lost puppy. Stiles was sure that he’d seen him reach out once or twice in order to not be left behind. Which wasn’t really a bad idea, given that the whole of Beacon Hills seemed to be out and at the market. He’d even seen good old Lizzy, and that woman almost never left her home.

“Scott! Isaac! Hey, how are you guys?” Stiles greeted them as soon as they were close enough to not require screaming his lungs out. “Scotty, how’s your chest? Do you still have trouble breathing?” Scott rolled his eyes, grinned widely and shook his head. He was used to Stiles mother henning him a bit more than should be considered polite, but that first time he’d had trouble getting enough air into his body was something Stiles would probably never forget.

“I’m fine, Stiles,” Scott grinned. “I haven’t had any trouble in the last few months as you well know since you keep nagging me at every other opportunity.” Stiles gave his best friend a shove that made him stumble but not hard enough to make him fall. Isaac remained quiet but there was a slight smile on his lips.

“And you?” Stiles turned his focus on the other boy. “How is living with Melissa and Scott? Any problems there?” Isaac shook his head a bit harder than he needed to and it made his curls fly. Stiles nodded. “Good. Right then, what do you boys plan on doing today? Just checking out the wares, or do you plan on buying something?” He was honestly curious but also a bit worried that it might be a bit much for Isaac.

“I’ve been thinking about maybe buying something for Allison,” Scott replied, rubbed the back of his head and blushed. Just like Stiles had expected. “And maybe a new wicker basket for Mom. Her’s is slowly unravelling, and it keeps tugging on her yarn which makes it frazzled.” He stopped for a second. “And I only know that because she told me.”

“Of course, Scotty, of course,” Stiles laughed. “And you, Isaac? Is there something you would like to look at? Maybe something to buy for yourself? Something special to ring in your new life? Maybe a set of new clothes?” His voice gentled perceptibly, when he put himself onto Isaac’s other side. This way they could shield him if necessary and guide him through the throng of people, if he wanted to go somewhere.

“I’m not sure,” Isaac said, biting his bottom lip and looking around the market. “I’ve never been to the Saturday’s market, so I don’t know if it’s any different than the one on Wednesday.” He lowered his gaze to the ground and scuffed the toe of his boot against the floor. It seemed like he was ashamed for something he had no control over. Stiles threw a glance at Scott and saw it returned with the same concern and determination.

“Well, the Saturday’s market is a bit bigger, to begin with,” Scott started to explain, while they began moving into the center of the marketplace. “On Wednesdays, we usually only have the traders that sell the necessities. Like candles and linens. Livestock and vegetables or fruits. We can’t grow everything on our fields, so we have to trade for the other food. Stiles, here, usually trades some of his own ware for the things he needs.” It was quite obvious that Isaac already knew what Scott was talking about. He nodded along with the words but didn’t say anything.

“And on Saturday’s there’s more difference in the wares?” Isaac asked hesitantly when Scott had to take a breathe. He sounded as if he was afraid of being rebuked. But Scott’s encouraging smile, bright and open, pulled an answering one from Isaac. Even though it was only a small smile. This was one of the things, Stiles found so fascinating about his best friend. Scott had a way of cheering people up with only the help of his puppy eyes and happy smile. Strangers almost always trusted him first, which was also due to his inability to lie. A fact Melissa was quite, quite thankful for, as she had told them more than once.

“Yes, take for example this stand over there,” and with that Scott pulled Isaac over to the trader who sold the finer fabrics like silk and cotton wool and the even more opulent cashmere. They were very expensive but oh so lovely to look at. His mother had loved to stand in front of the display and hold the different examples against each other. Not only had she compared the colours but also the feeling of the fabrics. Were they rough or smooth, scratchy or even itching? Stiles used to only watch her until he became old enough to understand what she was doing. In that moment, seeing Scott and Isaac hunch down over the colourful fabrics, made his heart ache at the memories that rose. But in a good way.

Stiles watched the two of them for a few more minutes before he decided that they were good together and that he didn’t need to keep his eyes on them for the rest of the day. He pulled his basket a little further to the crook of his arm and marched deeper into the crowd. He had his own purchase to make.

*~*~*~*

“Looks like the little witch is out, hunting for ingredients again. Shouldn’t you be doing that out in the forest?” The voice, even though he’d only heard it once before, sent a shiver of antipathy and foreboding down Stiles’ spine. He leaned over the table of a herb and spices specialist, trying to decide whether or not he should invest in some ginger. According to the books it was good for the throat when used as a tea, and it settled the stomach of expecting mothers when dried. The trader, though, wanted quite a few of his chamomile mixtures as payment.

“I’m not a witch, Ms Argent, and we can’t find everything in the forest. We find what we need to survive, but this goes beyond that, don’t you think.” Stiles replied, swallowing the sigh and the words that threatened to escape. They weren’t even remotely polite, and the last thing he wanted was for his father to have to step in and break up a fight.  Especially one against a woman.

“Hm,” Kate hummed, taking the spot next to him. “Could have fooled me, you know. What with you roaming around in that forest where no one else dares to enter. Yet you walk in and out without a scratch on your body. It does seem suspicious, don’t you agree?” Her fingers trailed over the differently sized ginger roots. She took one of the roots in hand and twirled it this way and that. When she turned her gaze on him, Stiles found himself shivering. Her eyes were so cold and filled with a rage that he didn’t understand.

“I’m not sure what kind of game you are playing, Ms Argent,” Stiles said, choosing his words very carefully. His voice didn’t tremble, though it was a near thing. “But I can assure you, that neither my mother nor me, are or have ever been witches. The only thing we do, is take what mother nature gives us and use that to help the people of Beacon Hills. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Isn’t that what witches do, though?” Kate asked, predatorily. She dropped the ginger back into the basket and stepped closer to Stiles. He could already feel the heat of her body through the thin linen of his tunic. It felt so strangely contradictory to the coldness in her eyes that he found himself rooted to the ground. “Don’t witches take what _Mother Nature_ offers and turn it into poisons and other unholy objects? Don’t you put curses on the people you don’t like?”

Kate’s voice was warm, hypnotic, and Stiles had never been so glad for his fast travelling thoughts. He heard what she said, but he didn’t listen to it. Instead he turned his focus on a point just above her right shoulder. He only twitched when a long fingered hand started to trace figures on his arm. Unfortunately, Kate stood in front of him in a way that kept others from seeing what she did.

“How many curses have you spoken, little witch?” Kate asked, though it seemed that she wasn’t used to needing so much time with someone she preyed on. Her hand wrapped itself around his upper arm, her fingernails dug painfully into this flesh. “How many lives have you destroyed? You enjoy sacrificing lives, don’t you? Tell me, boy, tell me what I want to know.”

“How many lives did you destroy?” Stiles countered, his eyes finally focusing on Kate’s. He saw the surprise in them, even if she didn’t show it in any other way. So she really wasn’t used to people talking back at her. “I could ask you all the same questions, Ms Argent, because it seems that the only witch around here is standing in front of me. Though I’ll do the polite thing and not repeat them. Now, if you’d be so kind as to let go of me, I still have some purchases to make. Good day, Ms Argent.”

Stiles took a step away from Kate Argent and effectively broke the hold she had on his arm. She was running the risk of creating a scene should she reach back out to grab him again. He was the son of the Sheriff, the people of Beacon Hills knew him since he’d been born, and she had only moved into their quiet little town a little more than two weeks ago. The chance that the residents would side with her were non-existing. Only the knowledge that he would have the town on his side, kept Stiles from running away. He was scared, his heart raced like he’d been running for a long time and cold sweat started to gather on his skin. He hoped that Scott and Isaac would come across him when he left the stand.

Because Kate Argent was dangerous; she’d made it very clear. Now the only question that remained, was, whether or not her family was just as dangerous. Stiles hoped, for the town’s sake and the sake of his best friend, that it was only her who had her eyes and mind on hunting down witches. He didn’t even want to think about what could happen if Allison turned out to be just as deranged. Though if Stiles was honest with himself, he didn’t believe that Allison shared the same ideas as her aunt.

“I’ll take this piece of ginger and four pieces of anis,” he said to the trader, while he pulled a couple of flasks from his basket. He had to keep it together, at least in front of the people. 


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the long wait, my Darling readers! But here's the next chapter! 
> 
> Enjoy!

Working with his hands had always been a way for Stiles to calm down. Especially when it came with a repetitive motion, like stirring through the mixture in the cauldron or grinding herbs into a paste with mortar and pestle. The latter had been his mother’s favourite way of calming down whenever she had been angry or just upset. Not that it had happened very often but even his parents had argued every once in a while. Afterwards, his mother had stepped outside, taken a few deep breaths before vanishing into the shack until his father came out to apologize.

Stiles knew that he wouldn’t get an apology, though. Kate Argent didn’t look like someone who felt sorry for anything she said or did. He was sure that she would rather gloat about getting a rise out of him, and that was probably what she was aiming for. Maybe she thought that he would make a mistake. Though, Stiles smiled grimly, she probably hadn’t expected him to turn her tactic around and use it on her. Which might not have been the best thing he could have done. But she had insulted him; had called him a _witch_ of all things!

It wasn’t even word that made his blood boil, again, in that moment. It was the connotation of it and the accusations that had fallen from her mouth that quickened his heartbeat until it practically roared in his ears. The worst part was, though, that his own mind had drawn yet another conclusion to her words. She’d accused him of being a witch, due to his ability to help people with teas and other things. Everything he knew, though, he’d learned from his mother. So, of course his mind had jumped to the conclusion that Kate Argent called his mother a witch.

“Uhm, Stiles? I’m not sure, but I think the leaves are already quite dead enough,” a shy voice said from somewhere to his right side. It was only the fact, that his mind managed to identify the owner of the voice quickly enough, that Isaac didn’t end up with the pestle being thrown into his face. Instead Stiles carefully placed the small tool besides the mortar and closed his eyes. It took him more than just a few moments to calm the still raging thoughts in his head, but, eventually, he was able to turn around and greet his visitors. Because Isaac hadn’t come alone; Scott leaned against the door frame behind him, his eyes wide and filled with worry.

“Are you okay? Did something happen?” Stiles sighed. It was hard to remain angry or upset when faced with Scott’s worried face. It was either some kind of self-preservation instinct or a well trained skill. Knowing his best friend, though, Stiles would tip on the first option. Scott just wasn’t the kind of person to use something like that to his advantage. His innocence and constant belief in everything good amazed Stiles sometimes.

“I’m fine, Scott, just remembering something Kate Argent said to me on Saturday,” Stiles replied and wasn’t quite able to keep his voice from hardening. Isaac and Scott looked questioningly at him. He didn’t answer them right away, though. Instead, Stiles walked over to the bucket of water he used to clean his hands before and after working with the plants. Another little thing he’d taken over from his mother.

“What did she say?” Surprisingly, it wasn’t Scott who asked the expected question. Stiles looked up from where he was drying his hands with a clean piece of cloth. Despite the hunched shoulders and down-tilted head, Isaac’s eyes held the kind of steel only few people possessed. Now he only needed to actually fuse that steel into his spine, and it might just get easier for him. Though Stiles was sure that between Scott and him they would accomplish it. Somehow.

“She called me a _witch_ and asked me just how many _lives I have destroyed. That I like poisoning people and sacrificing lives,_ ” the words left his lips with a hiss. Isaac winced and curled in on himself, while Scott actually took a step back. Which was kind of understandable for Stiles. His best friend had very rarely seen him this angry.

Stiles closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He needed to calm down. This anger wasn’t getting him anywhere and would only end in a headache.

“Are you sure that it was Kate Argent?” Scott asked hesitantly, eyes pleading, and Stiles didn’t need to actually be a witch to know where this was headed. He rubbed his eyes and sighed. This was quickly becoming a habit it seemed and not one he actually wanted to have.

“Scott,” he started patiently, looking at his friend as openly as he could. “I’ve met Kate Argent, twice, and both times she called me a witch and acted less than friendly towards me. Mind you, there are many people who have problems with my and the way I act. I am okay with that. But she gives me a bad feeling, Scott. I’m not saying that you should stop thinking about Allison. She seems like a really nice girl.” He grinned when Scott blushed. “And I know that it’s practically impossible for you to not think about her. Just be careful when you’re around Kate and Allison’s parents. I’m not sure what it is, but they’re up to something.”

“Something bad?” Isaac asked softly, eyes wide in fear. Stiles’ heart broke a little more, and he shook his head while shrugging one shoulder.

“I don’t know,” Stiles admitted quietly, “ they just give me the feeling, that something bad is going to happen.” He paused, chewed on his bottom lip for a moment. “Maybe I’ve got this wrong, but please promise me to be careful when you’re around that family.” Now it was his turn to look pleadingly at his best friend.

Scott looked torn, but in the end, he nodded, and Stiles felt a shudder of relief scatter down his back. He didn’t want to put him into that position, but he also didn’t want him to get hurt or caught up in something that had nothing to do with him. Though it was probably already too late for that.

“Right,” Stiles plastered on a smile and rubbed his hands together, “what brings you guys to me, this early in the morning?”

*~*~*~*

Wednesday morning woke Stiles with the sound of rain pelting against the shutters of his window and the wind howling through the gap in the middle. For a few seconds, he thought that the sounds still belonged to the remnants of his dream, and he stretched with a smile. His body still held the heaviness sleep always left behind. It was tempting to simply turn around and fall asleep again. The next burst of wind that came in through the gap quickly convinced him, though, that he was quite, quite awake.

Stiles pulled the blanket over his head with a moan and curled up as tightly as he could. Should he really get out of bed right now? Get dressed, walk downstairs and eat something before braving the rain outside in order to gather wet leaves and roots and mushrooms? The truth was, he didn’t want to move. His body had just managed to reheat the space beneath the blanket, cocooning him in a layer of warmth. It was cozy, especially when he thought about the fact that he was safe from the wetness and just unpleasantness rain always brought.

The thought made him open his eyes again, even if he hadn’t noticed that he’d actually closed them. He was safe from the weather; safe and warm and cozy beneath the roof and his blanket. But Cora and Derek weren’t. Stiles was relatively sure, that they had managed to build some kind of shelter in the old ruins with the remains that could still be used. It probably didn’t offer much protection, though, and somehow that thought didn’t sit right with him.

Worrying his bottom lip between his teeth until it started to sting slightly, Stiles wondered why he cared about people that he’d only met a few times and under less than good circumstances. For all intents and purposes he shouldn’t feel anything about them or at least not more compassion than he held for any other stranger. Though their garden _did_ hold the best ingredients. Still, his remedies worked well enough with the regular ingredients from the forest. He didn’t have to use what grew in the garden.

So why was he thinking about whether or not they were protected from the weather?

Stiles listened to the rain pounding against the wooden shutters while his thoughts whirled around in his head. He thought about how he met first Derek and then Cora. They could have easily killed him when he met Derek the first time. They could have killed him the moment when Cora brought him his basket. Or when he showed up at the ruins once more with food and the idea for a deal. So many opportunities to get rid of him, and they hadn’t taken one.

Could it be thankfulness? Because he certainly was thankful for the fact that he was still able to breathe. Did it warrant his worry though? Not really, no.

After endless minutes of thinking about why he worried about Derek and Cora, Stiles still hadn’t found an answer for his question. He could have stayed in bed for a whole lot longer, pondering about it, but it seemed that his body was getting fed up with his inability to find an answer. His head was starting to ache, and his stomach rumbled fiercely as if to remind him that eating was something he should remember. He could ignore both and had done so quite often already. It was his bladder that finally forced him into motion.

Stiles shivered even before he threw the blanket off and placed his naked feet on the wooden floor. Goosepimples raced across his skin, making him curse quietly. It was supposed to be summer or at least close to it, so why was it so cold? He refused to acknowledge the fact that it usually grew colder when it rained. Sometimes it felt better to ramble and rage about unimportant things. It didn’t necessarily make him forget about his latest thought but it prevented his mind from running useless circles.

Grumbling quietly about unsolvable questions and uncomfortable weather, Stiles started to go about his morning routine. He would head out to see how things stood with Derek and Cora. Maybe then his mind could supply him with an answer. If not, then he would at least get the ingredients for his remedies. Stiles knew himself well enough to know that he would continue to think about this until he found an answer.

*~*~*~*

Stiles shivered when a gust of wind blew the rain right into his face as soon as he stepped into the clearing. He grumbled and tried to wipe the worst of the water out of his eyes. It seemed that the rain had picked up in it’s intensity again while he’d been protected by the treetops. He had hoped that it stopped completely since it had died down to a mere drizzle when he’d left his house. It looked, though, as if his hopes had been in vain.

The path leading towards the ruins, which he could barely make out due to the curtain of rain, was muddy and every step on it a dangerous thing. Not only because his feet sunk into the wet earth, which then tried to take off his boots. No, the main danger for Stiles was the slippery surface of the patches that had a stone lying beneath a barely there layer of earth.

“Derek, we’re getting a visitor! Looks like a drowned rat to me, though,” Cora’s voice cut through the rush of the rain. Stiles stopped when he heard her and grimaced because he actually felt like a drowned rat. His thick, woolen coat soaked up most of the water and held him rather warm, but every now and then a trickle would sneak past the protective layer.

“What do you want here? I thought, you had everything you needed?” Stiles didn’t even have to see Derek’s face, to know that it was pulled into a scowl and Cora’s cackling only confirmed his suspicion. It came from right in front of him and moments later a blurry red spot appeared.

“How did you know it was me?” Stiles asked curiously, deciding to ignore Derek for the time being. “Because I feel like I’m being blind right now.” Which wasn’t that far from the truth. The rain fell down hard enough that he could only make out the difference between dark and darker. Well, and the blurry red spot. Which could be a fire. Which _hopefully_ was a fire because the constant assault of wetness started to not only weigh him down but it also started to make it’s way through his coat.

“We’ve got good eyes,” Cora laughed, just when his foot connected with the first step of the short stairs leading up to the front porch. He squawked indignantly while his body lurched forward pulled even harder by the weight of his basket. Stiles’ tried to prepare himself for the pain that would undoubtedly come. He could freely admit, though, that it didn’t surprise him in the least. He had kind of expected to fall sooner though.

What Stiles’ hadn’t expect, though, was being caught by a strong grip on his shoulder. It still knocked the wind out of him, though.

“Thanks,” he wheezed wetly, before coughing because he’d accidentally inhaled raindrops. “That would have been painful, but thankfully only slightly more embarrassing than this.” Stiles grinned when Cora laughed again. Either because she liked his kind of humour or because she found his inability to walk pitifully hilarious.

“Are you always such a klutz?” she asked, once he stood on his own two feet again. A fleeting thought rushed through Stiles’ head. Cora had been able to catch him, heavy coat and full basket included. How did she do that? Not that he thought of her as weak. Nearly all the women he knew were strong in one way or another, and those who weren’t usually knew how to work their way around that.

“Only every other day and twice when it’s raining or snowing,” he replied, when it became obvious that she expected some kind of answer. Now, that he stood so close before her, Stiles could see that she wore a tarp over her body. It wasn’t made into a coat or anything close to it. Cora must have been throwing it onto her body when she’d noticed him stumbling up the path. Which still didn’t make much sense, if he was honest with himself.

Stiles knew that he had good eyes himself. His father always praised him for his vision and aim when he practiced with the bow. It was the only weapon he ever wanted to learn, since he wasn’t good when it came to sword or knife fights. Keeping his distance from his enemies, that was Stiles’ plan, should he ever get into the unfortunate situation. Still, it was possible that Cora and Derek had better eyesight than him. But seeing him through this kind of rain? It didn’t make much sense.

“You want to come inside?” Cora interrupted his musings, for which Stiles was actually glad. He had the odd habit of getting completely lost in his thoughts when something interesting crawled through his head. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. He only tended to stop whatever he was doing then and would stare into nothingness. Scott and his father had often found him in the shack standing stone still while the content of the cauldron, which he should have been stirring, had turned into a completely useless mess.

“That would be preferable, yes,” Stiles rushed to say, when the shape of Cora’s face came closer and he was able to spot a raised eyebrow.

 _Inside_ turned out to be a section of the house, possibly the old kitchen, which was covered by the same kind of tarp that kept Cora dry. It looked a bit like a tent, with three sides being completely closed off and a door like hole in the fourth ‘wall’. The thick blanket, which covered the entrance, effectively blocked out the harsh wind and trapped the warmth inside. Another shiver ran through his body, though this one came more from the sudden heat than the remaining coldness in his limbs.

The red spot he’d seen from the outside was a fire, just like Stiles had thought. It crackled merrily inside the old stone hearth on the opposite side of the entrance. The warm light danced across the old floor and created rather interesting shadows. Yet, Stiles wasn’t really interested in them. He was busy enough with setting down his basket and fighting to get his coat off. Small rivers of icy water sneaked beneath his tunic where he pressed a little too hard on the soak fabric. He refrained from squeaking, barely.

“What do you think you’re doing?” The growled question made Stiles look up from where he finally managed to wrangle the heavy wool into submission. Derek sat on what had to be a folded up blanket, knife and piece of wood in his hands. He seemed to have been whittling before Stiles had interrupted. Though there was no way of telling _what_ he made or had planned.

“I’m getting out of this coat in order to not catch a cold, why do you ask?” Maybe not the best comeback or the best tone to say it in considering that Derek probably had no qualms about throwing him out if he became too annoying. Or killing him because of it.

“Who said anything about you staying here? Didn’t you get everything you needed the last time?” the words were pressed out between clenched teeth, and Stiles couldn’t help but wince. He felt his own jaws ache in empathy. That couldn’t be healthy. Behind him, Cora cackled again, and Stiles had no idea whether it was because he still looked like a drowned rat or because her brother was pulling a face like he’d eaten something that was already off.

“I’m not sure if you’ve seen the outside world, Derek,” Stiles started, grabbing his basket and walking closer to the warm, warm fire. “But it’s a downpour out there, and I’m not going to even try finding my way around the plants in this weather. As for _getting everything I needed_ \- I make most of my balms and salves with fresh ingredients, which means that I have to head out every other day to collect them. Dried plants don’t work well enough with those kind of remedies. Teas, on the other hand, need to be dried in order to be preserved for Winter. So, if I collect too much of the plants in one go, they will either dry up and become much less effective or, the other thing that could happen, which is worse in my opinion, they could rot and become completely useless. And before you ask again: the plants from this garden work even better which is why I’m here. Again.”

Stiles wasn’t sure whether or not the flush in his cheeks came from the warmth of the fire, Cora’s snorting laughter or Derek’s intense gaze, which was followed by a huff. He wasn’t even sure whether or not he wanted to know.

*~*~*~*

In the end, it was already past lunchtime when the rain finally let up and a few rays of sunlight managed to break through the thick layer of gray clouds. Derek was the first to notice it, because he put down the knife and whatever it was he’d been working on. Stiles still had no idea what the shape was supposed to resemble. Though he didn’t ask. The last time he’d dared to utter a question in Derek’s direction, his answer had been a glare that would have send him scrambling away if it hadn’t meant getting soaked to the bone.

So instead, he had turned his attention to Cora who’d already raided what he had brought in his basket and divided it into two little piles. One of them she’d kept to herself, and the other one got shoved into Derek’s direction. Once she’d done that, Cora had taken her portion of the food and plopped down next to Stiles. The grin on her face had sent a shiver down Stiles’ spine that had absolutely nothing to do with coldness or rain and all the more with dread at what she might have been planning. He got gist of her plan after the first fifteen questions about plants.

“So, you’re ready to harvest some more ingredients?” Cora grinned, while Stiles tried to convince his body that moving was a good idea. He had never really experienced a sore throat but in that moment he wished for some of the sage heavy teas he needed to stock up on. He knew that he could talk a lot, and most of the time without a pause, but this questioning session felt a little like an interrogation about his intention for the plants.

Come to think of it, Stiles wondered _how_ Cora had managed to keep their entire conversation focused on the one subject. If it had been up to him they would have covered a lot more topics. Maybe it had been meant as some kind of distraction? He still didn’t have an ounce of an idea what Derek and Cora were planning. He could say that he started to like her, though. Which might not be a good idea. It had been nice to share some of the passion he’d shared with his mother.

“Yes, I need to stock up on a lot of things,” Stiles croaked before grabbing his now empty basket. Cora nodded with a grin before stepping out of the makeshift room. She even held the blanket aside for him. Derek was nowhere to be seen, but there was a hacking sound coming from the water side of the ruins. So he was still around, probably chopping wood.

“So you’ve said,” Cora laughed, letting the blanket fall back once Stiles had stepped through. His gaze travelled to the sky and he frowned. It was later than he hoped it would be which meant that he might not be able to get everything he needed. That would mean he’d have to make another trip into the forest on the next day. Which kind of threw his whole plan. Not that it had been a definite plan, more of an idea of what he wanted to do on what day.

“What’s the matter?” Cora asked, giving him a questioning look before looking at the sky herself. “I’d say we have about four more hours of sunlight left, give or take about half an hour. Does that worry you? Do you need to be somewhere at sundown?” Stiles tilted his head from one side to the other.

“I wouldn’t say that it worries me,” he finally replied. “Or that I _have_ to be anywhere but home when the sun’s setting. I just wanted to get all the ingredients today so that I could spend tomorrow and the day after working on the balms. Though given how late it already is I may not be able to get everything I need.” Stiles looked over at Cora and was surprised at the contemplative look she gave him.

“Maybe I could help you, then,” she said, tilting her head to one side as if she was trying to listen to something very quiet. “You know in exchange for all the questions you’ve answered. Maybe I’ll learn even more useful things.” Cora’s eyes sparkled mischieviously when she looked at Stiles and then back to where Derek was. He couldn’t help but grin and nod.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> As alway, feedback is very welcome! So, either leave a comment here or [here](acaranna.tumblr.com)!


End file.
